Ritualization
by the morrighan
Summary: Changes in behavior lead to some startling realizations.
1. Chapter 1

Ritualization

Black.

John Sheppard stared down into the depths of his coffee mug. The hot liquid was dark. Unfathomable. Rippling as he tapped the side of the blue cup with one finger. Steam wafted from the beverage, tickling his nose with the strong aroma. He took a careful, tentative sip. Mindful of the healing scab on his lower lip. His tongue and palate protested the heat but he swallowed anyway.

He set down the cup. Closed his eyes a moment. Weariness washed over him. He hadn't been sleeping well the past two nights. He rubbed his temples. Not from any headache or pain but from his circling thoughts. Emotions he tried to squelch, to deny. To ignore. He opened his eyes to stare across the room. To stare at Moira O'Meara.

She sat alone at a table. Seemingly absorbed in whatever was on the screen of the data pad set in front of her. Long brown hair bound by a ponytail, but strands were slipping loose to trail along her shoulder, arm. Long-sleeved charcoal shirt and slacks. He idly wondered what color underwear she had on beneath the clothes. His scrutiny traced the weariness on her face. The sleepless nights. The misery he knew all too well. Try as he might to deny it.

He drank more coffee. Looked away from her lest she see his scrutiny. His interest. His concern.

"I'm done!" Rodney McKay announced, joining him at the table. He set a tray full of food down. Smiled. Waited. Rolled his eyes at John's blank stare. "Well? Do you even know what I'm talking about? The Jumper! I've realigned the drive pod! In fact I completely reprogrammed the basic systems and had the techs reinstall the drive pod's angular rods to ease the process of retraction and release. I'm not an engineer, you know, I'm an astrophysicist but I think, no, I know that I have not only fixed the ship but made it better. That drive pod won't be a problem again, trust me. So are you ready?"

"For?" John asked, only listening to half of Rodney's swift flow of words. Tuning out most of it and only listening for the important points. Watching Moira again. She was nibbling on a bagel. Taking small bites. Almost as if nuzzling it, teasing it. He scratched at his neck suddenly. Evan Lorne walked over to her, distracting her gaze from the data pad. He was in full gear and John wondered why Moira wasn't. Recalled Lorne's team was leaving on a mission today.

Rodney heavily sighed. "For what? To go on a test flight! It was your idea, John!"

"Oh. Yeah." He drank some more coffee. Met Rodney's exasperated gaze. "Okay."

"Well, don't thank me or anything!" Rodney fumed. "Don't get too excited! Why you insist on that particular ship is beyond me! They're all Jumpers! They're all the same!"

"No, they're not. That particular ship is mine," John stated. Sourly eyed his half-eaten breakfast.

***************************************************************************

Moira was staring at the words on the screen. But they could have been hieroglyphics for all of the sense they made to her. She was trying not to look at John. Was aware of him sitting across the room from her. Very aware. Listening to the unique cadences of his voice, the rise and fall of tone and pitch but not the exact words. Few and far between as they were. She looked up as Evan tapped the data screen. "Oh. Hi."

Evan smiled. "Hi. Are you sure you can't go with us?" he asked. A trace of suspicion in his blue eyes. And concern. "I know a meet and greet is not the most exciting mission but it beats moping around here."

She frowned. "I'm not moping. No, Carson advised me to stay here and rest my foot. I don't know why it started to cramp again. I'll go on the next mission."

Evan considered, as if debating the veracity of her words. "Okay. As long as you are sure, Moira. But you owe me."

"Owe you?" she asked, puzzled.

He nodded. "Yes. Big time. For leaving me to deal with Kavanaugh on my own."

She shrugged. "Sorry. I'll buy you a beer when you get back."

"Make it two," he quipped, causing a brief smile to appear on her face. He touched her shoulder. "Take care. Back in a few."

"You too." She watched him leave. Let her gaze wander to John. Saw his fatigue. A purplish bruise under his right eye. The scab on his lower lip. The bandage on his cut hand. The black wristband covering his slashed wrist. A wave of compassion, of worry assailed her. Wanting to comfort him, soothe him. She brushed the emotions aside. Resumed her attention on the text in front of her. The blinking cursor.

*************************************************************************

"Major Lorne." John's voice halted Evan at their table. "Why isn't O'Meara geared up for the mission?"

Evan eyed him. Neutral expression on his face but a coldness in his blue eyes. "Health reasons, sir. If you'll excuse me we embark in five." At John's nod he strode out of the cafeteria.

"Health reasons? What's wrong with her?" Rodney asked. John wondered the same thing but shrugged at his friend's inquisitive gaze. Rodney turned in his chair. "Moira!" he called. "Why aren't you going on the mission?"

Moira looked across the room, startled by the address. "My foot," she answered. Said nothing further. Eyes darting to John. To see his puzzlement. She stared back at her data pad.

Rodney turned back to John. "Oh. Well, you could have said something since it is just her foot, John. What's the big deal? Oh...I see...well, if you two need some alone time I can get another pilot to test the Jumper. In fact that might be preferable to your sulking mood."

"Let's go." John stood. "Test flight." He glanced at Moira again. Curious about her foot. Wondered if that was the real reason she had declined the mission.

"Okay. Unless you'd rather take Moira with you," Rodney teased, but John turned and left the table without any kind of response. "What? What did I say now?" Rodney wondered. Glanced back at Moira. Moved to follow John.

Moira looked up to watch John leave. Resisting the urge to intercept him. Admiring the economy of movement in his long strides. The double strap of his holster encircling his thigh. She berated herself for the hopeless yearning. Looked at the data pad to lose herself in the science. The safety and security of facts, names, numbers. Of emotionless data.

*************************************************************************

John lost himself in the sheer joy of flying. Performing technical maneuvers that had Rodney grabbing his seat in panic. Exclaiming at the daredevil spins and turns. Drops and acceleration.

John found himself grinning at his friend's terror. He gripped the controls, testing the machine to its limits. Flew over the ocean, over the mainland. Thoughts mostly free of Moira for a little while as he executed an array of attack and evasive maneuvers.

Rodney gulped yet again. Shook his head as the ship flew evenly over the mainland. "Well...um, I'd say the drive pod is fixed, wouldn't you?"

John smiled. "Yeah. I would. Flies like a dream, Rodney. Good work."

"Good...oh. You're welcome. You, um, don't have to do that anymore."

"What? Thank you?"

"No! You don't have fly like a kamikaze pilot, okay? I would hate to have to fix it again if you were to crash."

"Not going to happen. Trust me, Rodney. I've flown nearly everything."

"So you keep telling me," Rodney retorted. "Hey! Is that the–"

"Gunnery station? Yeah, what's left of it. Just testing. If we get shot down you'll have to not only fix this ship again but the whole system." John scanned the inert gun pointing like a giant finger into the blue sky. "No energy readings."

"Good! I told you, the whole thing is defunct now. But I could have fixed it. Yes, I know the risk," he grumbled, before John could interrupt him, "but it would have been worth it, don't you agree? For the protection of the entire city! I could have found a way to bypass the looping power to make it more efficient and more secure!"

"Doesn't matter now, Rodney," John replied. Swerving the vehicle again to skim over the mainland. Over the tops of the trees as he accelerated. Accelerated.

"No, I guess you're right. No! It does! I'm surprise you weren't all over this! Big shiny guns and all!" the scientist fumed.

"Yeah," John stated. Mind elsewhere. "How are those inertia dampeners holding up?"

"What?" Rodney checked the screen. "Fine. Why do you ask? We just oh no!" He found himself shoved into the back of his seat as John turned the ship into a nearly vertical climb. Flew directly upwards into the blue sky. "You could have warned me!"

"Nah. It's more fun like this." John smiled. "Breaking atmosphere. Let's take a spin around the planet."

"Why?" Rodney asked, clutching the sides of the seat as the ship sped through clouds. The blue faded into black as they left the atmosphere and were free of the planet. Rodney checked the screens. "Everything's fine. Stable. No problems. What is this, a joyride now?"

"Something like that." John eyed the controls, then the vast darkness of space. "Scan the planet."

"Why?"

"Just do it. Testing." John relaxed into the seat. The controls steady in his hands. The ship purring under his control. Reacting to his thoughts.

Rodney shook his head. Nevertheless he activated the scanners. Checked the screens. John brought the HUD to life. Perused the readings. "See? It all works. And there is nothing out of the ordinary. See that bright dot?" Rodney pointed to a crimson circle. "That's Atlantis. The only source of power on the entire planet. Which is mostly composed of water, you know."

"Yeah, I know."

"Interestingly enough it seems to be like early Earth, in that there is one large landmass amidst the larger ocean. Rather like Pangaea, the super continent before it broke apart into the more familiar land masses we now know. Oh, you know all this, of course, don't you, since you're dating Moira. I'm sure she's filled your head with all of that prehistoric–"

"Whatever. Let's head back." John frowned, veered back towards the planet. From space it appeared like a sapphire ball.

***********************************************************************

Moira rubbed her eyes. Stretched her sore arms and back. She had been hunched in the same position for hours. She stared at the screen in front of her. Hit the print button. "There. It's done. Finally."

"Good. If I read one more genetic comparison I think I may go cross-eyed," Peter Harrison said. Ran a hand through his gray hair. "I've sent it ahead to Beckett. You're printing the hard copies, right? For Weir and Sheppard?"

"Yes," Moira said. Moved to stand near the printer as it busily spit out page after page. Full of words and charts and graphs. "Not that they'll understand all the details. Just the main stuff. The collation between the two species."

"We can save the nitty gritty for later. Right now they'll just want the cold, hard facts."

Moira smiled. Grabbed the sheets and held them out. "Here. You can–"

"Oh no." Peter held up his hands. "It's your project, Moira. You did most of the work. You can hand in the reports. Then we can move onto more important things, like the prehistoric megafauna project."

Moira hesitated. "But you're the head of biology, Peter. You should–"

"Oh no," he said again, smiling. "You can deliver those, can't you? Besides, you may need to answer questions about it. Go on."

She sighed. "Fine. But you owe me."

Peter laughed. "Owe you? Weir won't bite your head off, and as for Sheppard, well, a little bird told me that he would be putty in your hands so go on."

Moira nearly crushed the papers in her grasp. She nodded, turned, left the biology lab. Not bothering to refute the claim. Correct Peter. Inform him of the break-up. She found herself glad to have an excuse, any excuse to see John. Conversely she dreaded facing him. Not knowing what to say, how to act, what to do.

A slight limp marred her stride. She bit her lower lip. Felt guilty about exaggerating the pain in her foot to stay in the city. To stay until John left on his mission. She chastised herself for the longing. Yearning after him like some lovesick teenager but couldn't help herself. Knew she should just accept it. Ignore him. Move on. But she couldn't quite let go.

She paused on the threshold to Elizabeth's office. It was empty. Relieved Moira darted inside, set the report down on the desk. Noted its tidiness. She exited, clutching the second report like a shield. Wondering where John was. Wondering how to find him. She passed the conference room. Glanced inside. Stopped. Glanced back. Entered quietly, smiling.

John was seated at the head of the table. Sprawled against it, head turned to one side, cushioned by his folded arms. Asleep. Hair disordered as always. A trace of stubble on his jaw. Long lashes sweeping darkly against his skin. Full, perfect lips at repose. The black t-shirt molded across his back, riding up a little to give her a teasing glimpse of bare skin. Of blue striped boxers.

Moira set down the report. Touched his shoulder. Nudged. He didn't move. "John? John?" She nudged again. Shook him gently. She smirked. "John!" she said sharply, pushing at him.


	2. Chapter 2

Ritualization2

John was caught in a strange dream. He was flying the Jumper. Then Moira was calling him. Pushing at him. Massaging his aching back, plying his muscles. But her voice wasn't sexy. It was soft. Then stern. Except it wasn't a dream. "Huh?" He snorted, raised his head. Blinked past sleep to see Moira standing near. Her hand on his shoulder. Expression soft and sad all at once. "Moira?" he smiled. Forgetting for a moment that they had broken up.

Moira was captivated by his sleepy expression. Brilliant green eyes full of love. Until his smile disappeared into a more neutral mien. Gaze becoming indifferent. Like a shield had slammed down to mask his emotions. She withdrew her hand. A surge of tears burned behind her eyes but she said coldly, "Colonel Sheppard, the report on the Wraith."

John glanced at the papers in front of him. Glanced at her. She appeared stern. Gone was the softness. Gone was the love. Not gone, but veiled. Submerged. Forced back as he was forcing his own feelings back. Down. Away. "The Wraith, Doctor O'Meara?" he asked. Prolonging the conversation, her nearness.

"Yes, colonel. A report on the aquatic subspecies including a comparison to the Wraith we know. Theories on genesis and behavioral patterns. Ritualization."

"Say again?" John asked, brows furrowing. He glanced down at the papers. Looked at her.

Moira appeared irritated. She eyed the report. "It's all there. Ritualization. A fixed action pattern that has been changed during evolution so that conspecifics may communicate with each other more explicitly and more efficiently."

"Say again?" he repeated.

She sighed. "Behavior patterns. Communication. You know, the stuff you know very little about. How to communicate. An aggression control mechanism. Courtship rituals. The attracting of mates. The displays of aggression. The communicative skills to make a cohesive unit. In the case of the subspecies their particular psychic hive mind and their flagrant displays to place their victims into thrall to–"

"Whoa, whoa, doctor," John said, holding up a hand. "Slow down. Back up. Courtship? Mating rituals?" A sly smile stole across his handsome face.

"Figures you would hone in on that, colonel. Read the report!" She whirled, limped to the door.

"Moira!" he called, moving to his feet. "What's wrong with your foot?"

She froze at the doorway. Sidestepped out of it but remained with her back to him, staring at the wall. "That's none of your concern, colonel."

"It is my concern, doctor. As your military–"

"What is your concern, John?" Elizabeth asked, glancing at Moira as she entered the conference room. Report in her hand.

"This report," John glibly informed. Eyes still on Moira. She was edging towards the open doorway.

"Oh, yes, I was just going to call you. Moira, we need to discuss this at length. I will–"

"No." John saw Moira's distress, tension. Her attempted escape. From him and from the subject at hand. "I was given to understand that this was a preliminary report. Doctor O'Meara still has additional data to gather so she had best be on her way. Carson is waiting, isn't he?"

Moira glanced at him, surprised. Grateful. "Yes, colonel. I'll go." She stepped out of the room, began to limp awkwardly down the stairs.

John was suddenly behind her, taking her elbow to gently guide her. "Still saving that pert little ass," he quipped quietly.

She glared at him, yanking free of his grasp. "It is no longer your concern, colonel."

He frowned. "Oh. Yeah. Guess it's not."

They stood looking at each other for a moment. Conflicting emotions playing across their faces, glinting in their eyes. Until she turned and limped away from him.

He let her go.

****************************************************************************

Moira shoved the books aside. Glared at the camcorder. The frozen image on the screen. Not of any prehistoric animal but of John. An odd candid shot she had accidently captured on Pleistocene Park. He was smiling, amused at something happening off-camera, and Moira could not for the life of her recall what it had been. She stared at his smiling, handsome face. Switched off the camcorder but did not delete the image.

She strolled down the hallways. Rehearsing the words in her mind. Determined. Unmovable. She spotted John lounging against a wall. Long, lean body appearing lazy, carefree. His hand on his hip. Pelvis slightly turned to cause the double holster strap to pull his pants just a little tighter along his leg, his thigh, his crotch. Head tilted to one side. A lopsided smile formed by his lips.

"John!" she barked. Angered and jealous all at once. "John, we have to..." She froze as he looked over at her. As his companion turned in surprise. Moira recognized the blond woman from movie night. The one who had been sitting next to John. Flirting with him. Like he was flirting with her now.

"Moira," John began, pushing himself away from the wall. A mixture of defiance and guilt coiling in his stomach.

"Oh, excuse me, colonel. I didn't realize you were holding auditions for your next lots some woman," she said acidly. Glaring. "I wouldn't want to interrupt such a delicate process." She found refuge in sarcasm, even as her stomach clenched.

"Moira! Damn it! Don't be absurd!" he called, added, "I don't audition them! Moira!" He followed, striding rapidly after her.

Moira ignored him. Rounding the corner so fast she nearly tripped as her foot cramped at the sudden motion. When he grabbed her arm she whirled, shoved free. "Damn, John, that was fast work! What was that? Two days? Two fucking days?"

"Three," he corrected. "Yeah, it was. You know how we Alphas are. Always on the prowl." But seeing the flash of pain in her brown eyes he relented. "You know that's not true, Moira. I was just talking to her, okay? Not–"

"I know, you don't hold auditions!" she threw back at him. "It's no longer my concern, colonel." She began to walk down the hallway.

He followed. "Really, doctor? That's not what I see. Face it, Moira, you want me."

"What do you care?" She whirled to face him. "You dumped me, remember?"

"Yes, I remember. But we–"

"No!" She hit his chest. "Don't you get it? You–" she paused, stepping back from him to let people pass between them. Halting their conversation. Halting the rising emotion between them.

Once they were alone she resumed. "There is no we anymore! You broke us up! You destroyed us! And for what? For what? For some fucking male pride? To move on to your next lots some woman? At least have the decency to be honest with me!"

"I have been, damn it! I told you the reason! And no, I'm not moving on...oh I've tried, believe me, I've tried, but I–"

"Bullshit, John! Do you think I wanted any of this? I didn't want to become just another of your lots some women! I didn't want to fall in love with you! I don't need that kind of shit right now, the same as you! But I'm not like you, John! I can't just move on without any regard to the next one! And that's why I am requesting a long-term leave of absence to go work on Pleistocene Park! To get the hell away from you! I can't even think straight, I can't work, I can't decide what to do anymore! So I have to leave to get away from you because I still love you and I can't handle the fact that you don't even–"

"Whoa, whoa! Like hell you are leaving!" he argued. Shaking his head. "I will never approve that request. Never! You are staying right here where I can keep an eye on you and keep you safe and keep you to myself!"

"I'll go to Weir!"

"Like hell you will! And I won't let you go!"

"It's not your decision! Besides, John, you already have! You..." A wave of emotion caught her, swallowed her. She felt a flood of tears. They blurred his angry image in front of her. She whirled, hastened to her room. Closed the door and leaned against it, trying not to sob, to scream, to yell.

"Moira!" Jolted he raced after her, but found the door closed. Closed to him. He slammed his fist on the door. "Damn it! Moira! I...I..." He touched the door. Ran his palm over it. "Moira, it's not like that...it never was...you...I..." His words floundered.

"John. Just go." Her voice was muffled. Thick with emotion. With tears. Close to the door as she leaned upon it.

He pressed his palm to the door. "Moira." He heard a soft, soft sound. A sob trapped in her throat. He gritted his teeth against it. Realized he didn't have to fight it. As if that one tiny sound had dissolved every decision. Melted his steel resolve. "Moira," he repeated. Spun on his heels and left. Needing to get away from her. From the city. Even from himself.

**************************************************************************

Moira swore. Washed her face. Stared at herself in the mirror. Felt like a fool, an idiot. Lashing out at him when she should be letting go. She composed herself. Fixed her hair. Smoothed down her charcoal gray shirt. Gray pants. Stepped into the main room. She glared at the bed. Hating it. Hating the memories of John teasing her mind. Her body.

She left the room. Strode to the biology lab. Determined. Stubborn. She began to work on her proposal to go to Pleistocene Park. To lose herself in the science again. The pure wonder of the place. The amazing finds. Discoveries. Suddenly she found herself engulfed in a hug.

"Moira!" Katie Brown scolded, freeing her. "Whatever is the matter? There's been talk of you and John having quite the shouting match! Have you been hiding down here all day?"

"No. I'm not hiding, I'm working," she corrected. Embarrassed.

"For three hours straight? Come on, talk to me. No, better yet talk to John."

Moira moved to the table. Shut off the computer. "Can't." She smiled a moment. Her clipped answer reminiscent of his usual verbal skills.

"Can't? Or won't? Moira, it can't be that bad. Talk to him."

"I've tried. He won't listen! He wont, he doesn't, he..." she paused. Unable to admit the break-up. As if voicing it to someone else would make it real. Final. Irrevocable.

"Won't what? Listen? Are you that surprised? He is a man, after all. Doesn't what? Love you? Of course he does. As much as you love him, if not more by the way he tries to conceal it, deny it."

Moira stared at her friend, surprised. "Maybe once, but now he–"

"What? Did something stupid? Thoughtless? He's a man, isn't he?"

Moira had to laugh. "Yes, he certainly is that. But he–"

"Ran? They all do. Do you know have any idea how I've had to coax Rodney along? Inch by inch just to get him to go on a date? A date that didn't involve the cafeteria? When John comes to you, which he will, you can–"

"She is better off without him," objected Julie Armstrong, joining them. She shook her head. "Trust me. Let him go, Moira. You look miserable. Is he worth this?"

"Of course he's worth this!" Katie argued, facing the other woman. "They love each other!"

"If that's what love looks like then please, please spare me!" Julie opined. "Moira, Moira, you know damn well he's not worth it. Not that guy. Sheppard? The ladies' man? I bet he's got another one lined up even as we speak."

"No! He wouldn't! He wouldn't do that to Moira!" Katie objected, hazel eyes widening in shock. "He loves her!"

"Maybe once, but since when has that ever made a man from keep it in his pants?" Julie retorted, hands on her hips. Expression stern. "And Sheppard? Please!"

"He's not like that! Not since he's been with Moira!"

Moira stared from one to the other. As if the two sides of her were arguing out loud, had somehow come to life in the form of her friends. Her heart arguing with her brain. Cold logic combating hot emotion. Part of her was mortified. Part fascinated.

"Maybe so," Julie conceded reluctantly, "but does a leopard change its spots?"

"This one has!" Katie declared. "Hasn't he, Moira? Moira?"

Moira blinked as both women regarded her. "What? Oh...I...um...yes. He has, I mean he is not...I mean...maybe...I don't...he..." she stammered.

"Ha! See? You're better off without him!" Julie declared.

"No! That's just your insecurity talking. He wouldn't hurt her like that!" Katie touched Moira's arm. "At least come to dinner."

"Yes," Julie agreed. "You need to eat something."

"I...okay," Moira acquiesced seeing they wouldn't take no for an answer. She snatched her data pad from the table and followed her friends to the cafeteria.

*************************************************************************

John brushed off his hands on his pants. Straightened. He had hoped the physical exertion would help him be able to fall asleep. To make him sleep through the night. But it had only aggravated his cut hand, sore wrist. Aching muscles protested along his back. He wiped his brow. "There. Nothing is getting in or out of that thing now." He stomped on the buried hatch.

Ronon shrugged. "It was buried yesterday. Why did you uncover it? Only to bury it again?"

John shrugged. "I wanted to be sure. That's all." He lifted the shovel, slung it over his shoulder. "Let's go." He began to walk with Ronon across the field. A wind was blowing. Sighing mournfully in the trees. "How's the jaw?"

"Sore. The eye?"

"Sore." John fingered the fading bruise under his right eye. "At least the mainland is secure."

"We knew that three days ago," Ronon observed.

"And now we know for sure," John insisted. He glanced at his watch. The sun was setting. Streaks of orange on the waters. Darkness gathering slowly on the land. Encroaching from the tree line. Giant shadows chasing after the two men. "We should check with the Athosian settlement. See if they need anything else."

"They didn't need this," Ronon stated. "Why are you avoiding the city?" He stopped.

John kept walking. "I'm not." He paused, looked back to see Ronon standing. Unmovable. Waiting. "What? We had work to do here."

"Did we?" Ronon walked to him. They resumed their stride towards the Jumper. "Go to her."

"I've already talked to Teyla and she is settling her people now and will–" John began, deliberately misunderstanding.

Ronon snorted. "Funny. Go to her."

"I'm not having this conversation," John grumbled. Irritated.

"Fine. Then lose her. Your choice."

"Yes, it is my choice! My choice! Mine! She's..." John stopped. Ronon was moving on without him. John stared at the sunset. Orange and crimson light embellished the sky. Filled the ocean waters. He began to move but stopped again. A rose bush was nestled among the greenery. Heavy blossoms swayed in the wind. Blossoms matching the sunset exactly. Hues of orange and crimson combined on each flower. Their heady perfume tickled his nose.

John hesitated. Glanced ahead but Ronon was a dark shape near the Jumper. John drew his knife. Choose a blossom and carefully cut it from the bush. He opened a pocket on his TAC vest. Inserted it carefully, trying not to crush it. He zipped the pocket. Sheathed his knife. Hastened towards the Jumper. Berating himself for this crazy, romantic gesture for a woman he had broken up with. A woman he was trying to protect. A woman he had hurt.

A woman he loved.


	3. Chapter 3

Ritualization3

John sat in the cafeteria. Using his fork to push his food around the plate. Eating some, but not really hungry. He sat alone. Far in the back, discouraging company by his sour expression. He flexed his cut hand. Considered going to Carson but didn't want another scene. Another accusation flung at him. He scowled. Sipped some beer. Hated having his private life aired like dirty laundry. Moira had turned his world upside down and he resented her for it. Loved her for it too, and he sighed inwardly. Shook his head.

He saw Moira sitting with her friends. Rubbed his stubbly jaw. Smiled for a moment. Considering how to approach her. Needing her to be alone. Isolated. He needed some pretext. Couldn't just walk over to her and announce his intentions. The words caught in his throat. Stagnant.

"He's smiling. Doesn't that mean he doesn't care?" Julie asked.

"No. It means he's thinking of a way to get her back," Katie argued.

Moira raised her eyes to scan across the room. To see John. "No. It means nothing." She eyed her plate of half-eaten food. "It could mean anything, nothing to do with me." Nevertheless she shyly lifted her gaze to meet John's. Wondered at his mysterious smile. His regard.

"Colonel."

John's line of view was blocked by Teyla. His smile faded into a neutral expression. "Yes?"

Teyla smiled. "I owe you an apology. For my outburst on the mainland."

"Huh. You yelled at me twice, actually. Not that I'm counting or anything."

"Very well. My two outbursts. I realize that you would never knowingly place anyone in harm's way. And once you became cognizant of the danger you acted and got my people to safety."

"Thank you," John stated. A tension uncoiling in his stomach.

"You have been quite a pain these past three days, but now I see that is over."

"Excuse me?" he asked, startled. She was still smiling.

"Yes, John. I only hope that Moira will take you back."

"What? No! I mean I decided to take her...I mean, she needs to decide to take me...I mean...oh hell, I don't know what I mean anymore!" he fumed, shifting in his chair. Uncomfortable.

Teyla laughed. "We have a mission tomorrow, John. Do not forget."

"We do? Oh yeah. Crap." He scowled, watching her leave.

"Now's he frowing," Julie noted. "Maybe Teyla told him he's being an ass."

"Julie!" Katie scolded.

Moira stood. "I've got work to do. Stop trying to decipher John. You have no idea how complex and how stubborn he is." Seeing a blond woman joining John at the table Moira stared. Whirled. Exited the cafeteria.

"John." The blond woman smiled, sitting across from him. "I'm so glad I caught up with you! What's wrong? You've hardly eaten!"

John glanced at his plate. To Moira as she exited. A slight limp marring her stride. To the woman smiling at him whose name he couldn't recall. "Nothing."

"Oh John, I thought we could get together tonight," she purred. Her fingers slid across his as his hand rested on the table. "I have a bottle of wine we could share. It might help you unwind."

Her meaning was obvious. The way her eyes perused him. Speculating. Inviting. Meaningless sex was on offer. He considered for a moment. He would like nothing better than to forget everything in sex. Except he wanted Moira. Sex with Moira. He slid his hand out from under the woman's. Stood. "Can't. I'm involved. With someone. At least I hope I am."

"John? I don't understand," she complained. Baffled. Disappointed.

"Sorry." He tossed the word over his shoulder like an afterthought. Strolled to his room. Debating. Plotting. Knew he had to be cautious. Careful. Sneaky.

************************************************************************

Moira stood at the printer, watching the pages spit out one by one. The detailed proposal to go to Pleistocene Park. An extended study of the incredible prehistoric life on that planet. Pages of scientific theories to prove, to test. Genetic propositions on evolutionary biology. She had used every argument at her disposal. Every gleam of scientific advancement to urge her cause. To promote it. She wanted to go. The planet was a paradise for her. A Noah's Ark of evolving life that no one had ever seen alive.

Also an escape from John. Though she would never admit it. Out loud. Moira sighed, gathered the papers. Set them neatly into a folder. Pressed the seams to make it fit. Tight. Presentable.

She bit her lower lip, trying not to think of him but yet her thoughts were of no one else. Nothing else. Try as she might she couldn't escape John Sheppard.

***************************************************************************

John tossed and turned. Tossed and turned. He had gone to bed. Undecided. Debating. Knew he was running out of time, yet uncertain. Wondered if she would reject him. Wondered if she could ever forgive him. He shoved the blankets off him. Kicked at the sheets as his feet dangled off the edge of the bed. He punched the pillows to no avail. He rolled. Changed sides. Changed again. Finally sat with a muttered curse and stared at the darkness. Picking absently at the scab on his lip as he brooded. Brooded. Remembering every detail of their last kiss. Moira's mouth entwined with his. Lips so soft, so yielding to his. Her fingers sliding up his chest. The quiet murmur trapped in her throat.

Cursing he scrambled out of the twisted sheets. Paced. Paced. Clenching his hands at his sides as if he wanted to hit something, someone. Finally he sighed. The last of his resistance melting under a tide of need, of emotion. Of the memory of that soft, soft sound at the door. He didn't bother to put on shoes or even slippers. He walked down the two hallways, reached Moira's door. He stared at it for a long moment. Knocked. "Moira? Moira?" He wondered if she was asleep. Resented her for that. He waved his hand over the panel. The door opened.

John entered her room. Stepped to the bed. Stared. The bed was empty. Still neatly made. Untouched. He felt a fission of panic, but realized she would not be in another man's bed. He looked round the dark, empty room. Shaking his head as an internal argument played out in his mind. He considered where to find her.

*********************************************************************

Moira glanced at the clock on the wall. It was midnight. She rubbed her eyes. As tired as she was she couldn't sleep. Thoughts and emotions tangled in a continuous loop that gave her no respite. She examined another slide, trying to focus on the science. The cells swarming under the lens. But that last kiss kept haunting her lips. John's mouth pressed to hers. Tongue teasingly trying to enter. His long, lean body pressed to hers. The intensity of his brilliant green eyes. Husky voice.

She swore, shoved the microscope aside and stared at nothing. Baffled by his stubborn insistence they break up even though it was obvious, at least to her that his feelings ran far deeper than he wanted to admit. Or could admit. She berated herself for having her own deep feelings. She pulled the microscope to her again. Peered into the lens. Wished she could peer as easily, as thoroughly into John's heart. Into his mind.

John lingered in the doorway. Just looking at her. Finally he walked over to her. The floor felt cold to his bare feet. "Couldn't sleep either?" he asked. Touched her back.

Moira nearly jumped off the stool. She whirled, heart racing. "John! Damn it, John, you scared the shit out of me!" She stared. He was clad in a navy t-shirt, navy plaid pajama pants. She glanced down at his bare feet. Up to his troubled gaze. "What are you doing?"

"I told you, Moira. I couldn't sleep. My bed. My bed is too damn uncomfortable," he fell back onto a safer argument. Finding the pretext he needed. A familiar one to both. "I can't get comfortable on that mattress and my back is killing me." He looked down, then up. Giving her his best puppy dog look. Eyes veiled under long lashes. Mouth pouting. Lower lip extended just a little. "The mattress is too hard and my back is aching from it, plus my feet always dangle over the edge and I can't get–"

Moira rolled her eyes, trying not to smile. Not to become enamored by his stance, his expression. "Fine! You can sleep in mine. My bed. I won't be using it. I'll be here all night anyway. But after tonight, John, no more. Okay?"

"Okay, Moira." He hesitated as she turned back to the microscope. His fingers still on her lower back. A subtle caress. "When you come to bed I'll leave. Just wake me and I'll be gone."

"Don't you worry, John. I'll be working here all night, so you'll have the bed all to yourself. It's all you ever wanted anyway, isn't it? My bed, I mean," she replied. Falling back on the old joke between them.

He briefly smiled. "Yeah. It's always been about the bed, Moira. You know that. I, um, I'll just go now, then...unless...look, Moira, I, um, that is to say, I, um..."

"Go, John. I've got work to do, okay?" She tried not to look at him. The only thing more irresistible than a pouting John was a flustered John.

"Okay, Moira. Okay." He lingered, as if unable to tear himself away. But he withdrew his hand from her back. Strode out of the room at last.

Moira glanced over her shoulder. Watched him leave. Yearning as she studied every motion of his body, his silent, bare footsteps. She shook her head. Couldn't figure out what he wanted. Wondered if he even knew. She turned back to the microscope.

********************************************************************

Moira glanced at the clock on the wall. It was two in the morning. She rubbed her eyes. Weary. Shaking her head. Knew it was useless to fight it any longer. Wondered if John was still in her bed. She could at least check. And leave if he was. She stood. Stretched aching, cramped muscles. Walked slowly to her room. Nodded absently at a marine on duty.

She entered her room. Crossed to the bed and froze. A light snore was emanating from the rumpled blankets. She neared cautiously. City lights glimmered from the window, falling upon John as he slept. Sprawled on his back. Limbs flung in every direction. Mouth slightly open. Hair a wild mess of darkness against the pillow. She smiled. Staring. Debating.

Finally she moved to the bathroom. Washed her face, brushed her teeth. Changed into a pale lilac nightshirt that fell to her knees. She combed her hair. Returned to stand at the bed. She slid into the blankets next to him. Nudged him. "John? John!" She pushed.

He snorted. Rolled onto his side towards her. Snoring stopping as he woke but kept his eyes closed. Tensing in case she ordered him out of the bed. Out of the room. Out of her life.

Moira touched his chest. A tentative caress. Wondered if he was still asleep. She scooted closer. A little closer. A wave of emotion hit her. The weight of loss. Of love. A tidal wave that made tears flow from her unbidden. Unwanted. She snuggled against his chest. Fingers clutching. "John...oh John...John..." she whispered. Trying to stem the tears.

John's arm slid round her. He felt the tremble of her body as emotion seized her. Her tears dampening his shirt. He caressed her back. Fingers tangling in her hair. He kissed her brow. Feeling a surge of love, of protectiveness. Guilt over making her so miserable. Himself so miserable. "My Moira..."

She tensed, startled that he was awake. She drew back but he caught her lips with his. Kept kissing her. Slow, sweet kisses as he tasted her tears. Drank in her sorrow, her need. Slowly his hand slid down to her hip. To tug the nightshirt up, up. To touch her bare thigh. To travel higher, higher along her skin. To move her onto her back as he moved with her. On her. "John!" She stopped him, eyes wide. Palms pressed to his chest. Heart racing.

"Moira. I can't. I just can't..." he stammered, voice low. Thick with emotion. Gaze boring into hers. Body reacting to hers. Wanting. Needing.

"John? I don't understand! You...we...you dumped me! You dumped me!" she repeated in a small voice. Forcing the tears back, as if ashamed of them. Of him seeing her weakness.

"I can't, Moira," he repeated. "Your tears cut deeper than any knife. Your sorrow pierces me deeper than any bullet ever could." He kissed her again, hand sliding up to caress. To find no panties to stop him.

She whimpered at his touch, his warmth. The solid press of his body. She touched his face. Ran her fingers along his jaw. Along the shadow of stubble. "John? Sex won't make it better. John, are we broken up or not? John?"

He kissed her fingers, then her lips. Then her throat as he slid his hand to undo his pajama bottoms. "Let me make it all better, sweetheart. The only way I know how," he wooed, voice muffled against her skin. "I can't give this up, Moira...it's killing me."

"You gave it up, John, when you dumped me! You dumped me, remember?" she accused. Torn between desire and anger. She squirmed under him, pushing him. "Stop!" He froze. Met her gaze. Awkwardly as his erection was pressing along her cleft. She glared at him. "I can't handle this roller coaster ride, John!"

"It's a Ferris wheel, Moira. Just hold on tight."

"John! I'm serious! Are we back together or not?" she demanded.

"Well, that depends on you, now doesn't it? Whether or not you'll take me back."

"Oh? Oh. Wait! Now you want to be together? You just want the sex, John! You just want the sex!" She shoved hard. Scrambled out of the bed, out of his embrace. Shook her head as the nightshirt fell down to her knees.

"Damn right I do," he muttered, slipping out of the bed. Slipping out of his pajama bottoms. He headed for her. She held up a hand as if to stop him but he caught her arms. Gently moved her until she hit the wall. "I want you, Moira. I want all of you. I know I shouldn't. I know that when this ends it will end very, very badly. But I don't fucking care right now. I want you. I want us. So fucking take me back already, okay?"

"John!" She stared, breathless. "Oh fuck it!" She pulled him into a lengthy kiss. John eagerly returned it. Yanking up her nightshirt. Hands skimming along her skin to her breasts. Caressing, teasing as his mouth ran from hers to her throat. He abruptly thrust inside her. Moaned at the sweet sensations. Familiar. Arousing. His. All his as he thrust, thrust.

Moira clutched, clung. Returning his eager kisses, welcoming his tongue as he kept thrusting, thrusting. She tightened, tensed to make him groan. Grow even harder inside her. She circled his ear and nibbled. Fingers clawing under his shirt now as he shoved her into the wall. Up. Up. Moans escaping her lips. "John! Oh John! Leverage?"

"Could be better," he muttered. "Fuck, fuck! Has to be full throttle, baby."

"Go for it, sweetie," she encouraged. Kissing him.

He rocked her against the wall. Straining. Pulsing. Paused. "No?"

"Close," she admitted. The pleasure spiraling but not with any release. Building slowly.

"Shit. I'm rushing. Hang on, baby. I'll get you there. Wrap."

"What?" The word was an exhalation as he pulled out of her. Began to lift her. She grabbed his shoulders, wrapped her legs around his hips as he lifted her off her feet. "John?"

"Bed," he informed, carrying her to it. Voice gruff with unrelieved need, passion. He dumped her onto it, making her laugh. He grinned. Quickly followed. "Wait! Off!" He pointed at her nightshirt, even as he removed his t-shirt. Flung it aside.

She flung the garment from her. Grabbed his arm to pull him onto her. "Oh John," she purred, trapping his mouth in a long kiss as she fell against the bed. He moved with her. Kissing. Caressing. Entering. She arched, nails racing up his chest, down his back as he began a wild rhythm. "Oh John, John!"

"Better, baby?" he teased, gathering speed and momentum. The bed rocking under them. "Ah, fuck that is good! Fuck! Tighter, baby, tighter!"

She obliged, startled gasps escaping her lips as the friction grew, grew. "Oh John! Oh yes, yes, yes, John!" she exulted, coming in a rush. Trying to keep quiet as the orgasm exploded.

"Let it out, baby," he encouraged, rocking the bed with their passion. "Moira! Oh Moira!" he called loudly, groaning as spasm after spasm took him.

"John! Don't, don't be so oh John, John, John!" Her scolding turning into another litany of pleasure, of passion.

He thrust hard, deep. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" he exclaimed in a shudder, releasing inside her now. Taking every ounce of her, giving every ounce of himself. He thrust again, pulled out and collapsed on top of her. Ragged breaths escaping his lips. Sweat trickling. "Oh baby...baby..."

"Sweetie," she whispered, breathless. Sweaty. Hot. "You...me...you...um..."

"So..." he lazily drawled, head on her chest. Body pressed to hers, pinning hers. "Was that a yes? You'll take me back?"

She smirked, caressing his back. "Um...I'm not quite sure yet, sweetie. Let me think. I may need another audition."

He quietly laughed. "Hilarious, Moira.


	4. Chapter 4

Ritualization4

The knocking woke Moira. It persisted, a quiet but determined sound on the door. Then her name. The Scottish accent jolted her and she woke. "Carson?" Moira disentangled herself from John, their naked bodies entwined in heavy slumber. She eyed him. He was still asleep. Moira scrambled out of the bed, but did not see her nightshirt anywhere. She snatched a blue woven shirt from a chair, tugged it on and hurried to the door. Closing the fabric around her. "Carson?" she asked. Blushing. Very aware of her nudity. Very aware of John sprawled in her bed.

"Moira, love, sorry to disturb you. We were going to go over that arm this morning."

"Oh. It's morning?" She glanced around to see the sunlight beginning to streak into the room.

Carson laughed gently. "Yes, love...early. Like we agreed, an early start. Moira, are you all right? Evan voiced some concerns...something about the movie and popcorn?"

"What?" She touched the door, swallowed nervously. "Oh. It was nothing, um, John was stealing my popcorn and I got, um, upset over it. That's all."

John woke at the voices. At the absence of her naked body pressed to his. He sat, staring at the door. At her. The blue shirt rumpled, just barely covering her rear as she moved. Her hair streaming messily down her back.

"I'd feel better if you'd open the door, love."

"I can't, Carson, I...um...the thing is, um...look, I'm fine. I'll come to the lab later, okay? I'm really tired and was up very late last night and I need to, um..."

"Have more sex," John teased into her ear. Was suddenly behind her. Pushing her gently against the doorl, kissing her throat as he shoved her hair aside. Lifting the shirt to expose her naked rear.

"John? John, ssh," she warned. Gasped as he hand ran up to her breasts, opening the shirt. Ran down to caress, to prepare. To slide his knuckles intimately until she squirmed. Whimpered. Released a heavy breath. Shoved back against him with her rear. Felt his hardness. "John?" she whispered.

"I woke up with it, baby. You need to take care of this for me," he teased, catching her arms before she could push him away, before she could turn. His hands slid up to entwine with hers as he eased his way inside her. "Wider, baby."

Moira lost her breath, almost her footing. She pursed her lips together, trying to be quiet, dreading if Carson was still there. If anyone passed the door. Whimpers escaped as he pushed, pushed. Quiet groans escaping his lips, his hot breath heavy on her skin. Her neck.

"Ah, baby, baby..so fucking sweet."

"Ssh, sweetie, ssh, oh John," she moaned softly, moved as he pushed again. Harder. Deeper. He groaned into her shoulder, into the shirt. Wondered if anyone was there to hear them. Found it a turn-on, to take her this close to the hallway. Controlling. Testing.

Carson shook his head, trying not to laugh as he headed down the hallway. Amused. Having heard the bump against the door. Another bump. Their soft voices. Moira's cautioning. John's teasing. Another bump. A soft gasp. A quiet groan. Only too aware of what they were doing he started to laugh at a safe distance, relieved that Evan's concerns had been for nothing.

One more push and John came in a release, tension drained. He freed her, turned her to kiss her. He swept her off her feet into his arms.

"John!" she laughed, grabbing hold.

He smiled, set her on the bed to sit. Knelt on the floor and pushed her knees apart. Fingers sliding up her thighs. "You didn't think I was done, did you? You haven't come yet."

She laughed. "True, sweetie, but you can't possibly–" A long exhalation as he slid up, moving her onto her back as he entered her. Kissing her as he drove her slowly towards the headboard. Pressing close, extremely intimate in each slow motion of his body in hers. The long, languorous kisses. The headboard gently hit the wall. Hit it again. Again. Again. She arched as he mouth slid down to her breasts. "Oh John, oh John, oh John!" she purred in a soft, long moan as the orgasm sweetly spiraled, lazily pleasured her body.

Moira showered him with kisses as he pulled out, rolled them onto their sides to recline. He smiled, reveling in her affections, her love. The passion coursing between them. The pure serenity of that one moment, of being together with nothing between them. No words. No concerns. The ghosts of the past mere shadows now melting into the darkness.

John settled comfortably, keeping her close to him. Lazily yanked the blankets up over them. "Hmm...yes, baby..." He had enjoyed the slow climax as well. The mutual loving enjoyment. "What did Carson want? Something about an arm?"

She stroked his hair, his side. "We were doing to dissect the arm. The Wraith arm. Early this morning." She yawned, snuggled into him. "Don't go, John."

He smiled. Kissed her. "I'm too tired to move, baby. You stay right here with me. You can dissect the arm later, right? It's not going anywhere."

"True, sweetie...so tired...this is so perfect, John, so..." Her voice caught in her throat and she sat suddenly. Pulled the shirt around her. "John? Was that goodbye sex again?"

He opened his eyes to see her anxiety. Sorrow wavering on the brink. "No, Moira. That was seducing Moira so she'll take me back sex. And I'll keep doing it until you make a decision."

"Oh." She smiled. Snuggled against him once more. "Okay, John. Let me think about it."

He smiled. "Fine, baby...take your time." He closed his eyes, preparing to go back to sleep. Relaxing. But she sat again, moving free of his arms. He sighed. Opened his eyes to see her staring round the room. Her pensive expression serious. Messy hair falling all around her. The blue shirt closed but unbuttoned. He could just discern the curve of a breast. He touched her naked thigh, caressed. "Moira? You have a decision already?"

Moira met his gaze. "John, are you hungry?"

"Huh?" The question threw him. He stared at her a moment. "Um...yeah, now that you mention it. Yeah. Wha–"

"I'll get us something." She made to move but he caught her arm, sat to stop her.

"No. Stay here, sweetheart. I'll go get us something. The cafeteria should be nearly deserted at this early hour. And I don't want you to put anything else on." He yawned, ran a hand carelessly through his hair. Rubbed his eyes. He kissed her, slid out of the bed. Quickly found his pants and shirt, pulled them on. Eyed her suddenly. "What?"

She smiled. "You look so delicious, John! Like you just rolled out of bed!"

"Well, I did, Moira."

"No, I mean, yes you did, but no...I mean what if you run into someone?"

"Oh." He shrugged. "Don't care. I'll just tell the truth. I got hungry and wanted breakfast in bed this morning. Breakfast in bed after a very vigorous, exuberant night of sex." He smiled.

"John!" she scolded, but he grinned.

"Back in a sec, baby. Don't you dare move an inch." He left the room.

John moved quickly down the hallway, yawning. Only just realizing he was barefoot and the floor was cold. Only just realizing how ridiculous he must appear in his pajamas as he strode swiftly down the hallways. He sprinted to the mess hall. It was empty except for one man absorbed in a textbook. He smiled disarmingly at the cook, the server prepping the morning meal. "Hi. Just need a few things here. And that. And that. And that." He filled two plates set on a tray. Loaded eggs, pancakes, doused in syrup. Some fruit. Two glasses of juice.

"Sir?"

John had made it halfway down the hall, balancing the tray deftly with both hands, ignoring the stinging cut on his palm when the voice assailed him. He silently swore, turned. "Ah...Lieutenant Josephes. I was just, I'm really hungry this morning," he lamely excused.

"Oh, of course, sir," the younger man agreed, trying not to smile. Trying not to notice the colonel was in his pajamas. Trying not to notice there were two plates, two glasses.

"And you're probably wondering about my shoes, er, slippers...well, I didn't feel like wearing them this morning. And my BDU is in the laundry bin...should be done by now, I think."

"Very good, sir."

"Good. Goodnight, er, good morning, lieutenant." Carrying the tray he suppressed his laugh, admired the straight face the lieutenant had copiously maintained the entire time.

"Colonel Sheppard?"

He sighed, turned again. "Doesn't anyone sleep in around here, major? I was just getting a snack."

"A snack, sir?" Evan questioned. Eying the tray of food.

"A big snack," John clarified. Began to walk up the hall. Much to his annoyance Evan strolled beside him. "Is there something you needed, major?"

"No, sir. I was just going to check on Moira, sir. She was quite upset last night."

"Yes, major, she was. We both were. But things are fine now."

"Are they, sir? Fine now?" Evan questioned as their steps slowed. They were approaching Moira's door. Both aware of it.

"Yes, major. Fine. Now." John stood outside the door. Waited. Waited. "You can go now, major. I can handle things from here."

"I'm sure you can, sir." Evan smirked, added, "Oh, colonel? Say good morning to Moira for me, would you?"

"Very funny, major. Go!"

"Going, sir." Evan laughed, headed down the hallway.

John sighed, shook his head. Entered the room. He crossed to the bed where Moira was sitting. Watching. Holding the blankets up over her like a shield.

"Was that–"

"Lorne. No problem, honey. Let's eat." He sat, placing the tray between them as she dropped the blankets to her lap. Closed the shirt over her again.

"Breakfast, Moira. Strawberries. In case things get too wild, you know," he teased.

"Hilarious, John. I'm starving!" They began to eat. "You know, John, this is perilously close to having a picnic."

"At six in the morning? I don't think so, Moira. It's just two people eating in bed. Who just happen to be in the same room, on the same bed."

"Hmm...okay, except I'm only wearing a shirt and your feet are bare."

"Well, that's just poor fashion sense."

She laughed. Chose a strawberry. Nibbled. Fed some to him. Leaned to kiss him gently. Frowned. "John...your poor lip..."

"Oh no, this is verging on dangerous romantic territory, Moira. Just eat your fruit," he admonished, setting the tray aside as she chose another strawberry. "And yes, my lip is sore. You rubbed it raw, baby, or nibbled it raw." He flexed his cut hand. "Damn, Moira...I must look like you beat the crap out of me."

"Serves you right for dumping me, flyboy. Take off your shirt," she ordered.

He smirked at her. But obligingly removed his shirt, tossed it aside. "In that case you need to open yours."

Instead she scooted closer to him. Ran the strawberry seductively over his lips. Into his mouth. He took a bite. She took one, set the remains aside. He leaned close to kiss her. Savoring the taste of strawberry, of her as his mouth lingered. Tongue flicking over hers.

She smiled, took another strawberry. Ran it over his lips. Took a big bite, some protruding. He smiled, leaned close and took the offered bit. Then plunged to take the rest from her lips. She laughed, almost choked. He laughed, swallowed. Kissed her and moved her onto her back. Yanked the blankets off to slide his body along hers. Kissing her until he had to pull away.

"Ow!" He sighed. "If it wasn't for my damn lip I–"

She kissed his jaw, his throat. Guiding him closer. "You need to heal, sweetie. Go to sleep."

"Hell, no. We're not done yet, sweetheart." He ran his fingers through her hair, his thumb over her rosy lips. "Open like a good girl, baby."

She opened her lips. Sucked as he slowly inserted his thumb. He groaned, shifting. Lifting to yank open his pants, yank them down. To open the shirt. To kiss a breast as she sucked, teased his thumb. Squirmed under him. Freed his thumb. "John," she whispered. "Are you...are you serious?"

"Maybe," he offered, moaned at her sudden possession of his forefinger now. "Ah, baby, that is a perfect prelude to going down."

"No!" She shoved his hand away but drew his mouth up to hers. A single, gentle kiss. Hearing him wince she pulled back. But it was his hand he was holding out from them. She touched it. The white bandage encircling his palm. The black wristband. "John, why are you wearing this?"

She fingered the black wristband.

"So you won't see," he answered.

"Won't see? It's healing, right?"

"Yes. But I don't want you to become upset by seeing it, that's all. Moira," he moved her hand away, kissed her. Shifted against her. "I should have taken off my pants," he grumbled. Wiggling on her to move the fabric out of the way.

She stared at him. Touched. Worried. "John...maybe, maybe we shouldn't be back–"

"No." He kissed her again. "Don't you go all teary on me, Moira. Just let it be. Just let everything be, okay? Now, where were we? Hmm?"

She shifted. Rolled them so he was beneath her. She sat upon him. Closed the shirt. "You need to sleep, John. Not have more sex. Talk about stamina."

He laughed. Caressed her bare thighs. "Just a quickie, baby. I'll have to start healing today, I guess. So your mouth will be off-limits...as well as your body. Restricted access."

"Yes, colonel. A no-fly zone for you." She rocked slowly on him. "Better?"

"Yes. Although you could lose the shirt," he complained.

"No. It's more erotic like this," she argued. Opened it a little, giving him a teasing glimpse of her breasts, waist. Lower as she rocked against him. She took his uninjured hand, kissed it. Took his forefinger into her mouth. Swirled her tongue around it. He groaned, reacting to the double seduction. Delighted, eyes on her as she withdrew his finger. Slid it down her skin to her breasts. Down her waist to stroke, probe the entrance.

"Oh baby...damn...you've got me right now," he growled. Thrusting up. She released his hand. Lifted. Took his hardness into her. Rocked slowly up and down.

She leaned down to kiss him carefully. "Relax, John...I'll do all the work this time, honey."

"If that's what you want, baby. Oh, right there," he enthused as she tightened on him. Moving a little faster. She ran her nails down his chest. Caught his hands to run over her shirt, over her breasts. Down to her thighs.

Murmurs escaped her lips, sighs as pleasure built, built. Loving waves inundating her. She closed her eyes, just feeling him. Feeling him moving in and out as she rode him. Directed him to rub against the exact spot repeatedly. Feeling the pure possession of him in her. The lush, hard length of him.

John enjoyed the sensations. The show as her lips parted. The shirt opening a little as her body moved in rhythm to his. She opened her eyes, smiled at him. He smiled, caressing her thighs. This slow, building loving unexpected, new. Enjoyable. He thrust upwards suddenly, and she moaned, stuttered. Fingers tightening on the sheets as she neared the brink. So close, hovering.

He grinned, feeling his own pleasure mounting, mounting. Wanting to thrust deeper, harder, but holding back. She moved quicker. Losing herself in the rush of momentum.

"John! Oh John, John!"

"Moira...keep it going, baby...damn you are so fucking lush...very lush...ahh!" He thrust hard, spasms escalating at last in a rush. She whimpered loudly, cried out as the climax shook her.

"Oh John! John!"she blurted, body taking over, moving faster, faster. Unable to stop. He grabbed her rear, sat and plunged repeatedly, taking her in a rush, a burst of sexual energy.

Moira gasped, sobbed as she was suddenly on her back, legs splayed, feet in the air as John plunged into her. Thrusting faster, faster. Rocking the bed so hard the springs squeaked loudly. The row of books on the table crashed to the floor. The headboard slamming so wildly the table next to it started to shake. He groaned, swearing profusely as he came again, as she cried out and arched, clung. Wrapping her ankles together, around him to keep him in place. He kept moving until he spurted, spent at last. He slowed, fell upon her as she moaned. Nails lightly scratching his back. She unwrapped her legs. Set her feet on the bed as he freed her. "John! What the–"

"Fuck! Fuck I've never come that hard before! Hell, Moira, I think we both need a warning label. You and your finger sucking."

She laughed. "Sorry, sweetie. I knew you would get off on that, John, but geez..."

"Yeah, well...what can I say? Here." He rolled off her, pulled her towards the pillows where he sprawled. "Damn strawberries," he muttered, but smug pride rang in his voice.

She laughed. Kissed him and snuggled close. "I've been thinking, John...we're having too much sex. I told you, you need to rest and to heal...and I need a rest."

He laughed. "I hear you, baby, but we are not having too much sex. So..." he drew out the word again, settling comfortably. Stroking her side as kissed her brow. "Does this mean you'll take me back now?"

"Hmm...maybe." She grew serious, met his playful gaze. "John...I need to know. If you truly think we should end this tell me now. If you truly can't handle what you feel for me then tell me now. You were right. We should end this now before it gets more intense, more involved. I love you, John. But I can't just have sex to have sex...I mean, I need you, John. All of you. Even when we're not having sex. So I need to know...if you can't handle that then tell me. End it now. Here. So?"

He touched her rosy cheek. Her lips. Her hair. "So...you're saying you don't just want me for my cock?" he teased, but was oddly serious. Solemnity in his brilliant green eyes.

Her gaze narrowed. "Yes. Impressive as it is I want all of you, John." She kissed his brow. "This." She kissed his lips. "This." She scooted down to kiss his chest. "This." She scooted lower. Kissed his waist. "This." Scooted up to smile coyly at him. "And yes, even that. So?"

"You could have continued, if only to prove your point," he chided, but smiled. "Okay." He closed his eyes. Settling into the comfort of the bed.

She stared. "Okay? Okay, what? John?" She shoved him. "John?"

"I said okay, Moira, now let me sleep, please." He smirked, imagining her ire.

"Okay what? Damn it, John, it's not funny! John!" She punched his shoulder.

"Ow!" His eyes flew open to meet her angry gaze. "What?" He rolled so she was beneath him. He kissed her, ignoring the pain on his lip. "I said okay. Okay, Moira? Okay. I love you, Moira, and I want all of you. Every inch of you. So okay. Okay? It didn't count anyway. Anything underwater doesn't count above water. So everything's okay now, Moira. You. Me. This. So hush so I can sleep." He settled, shifted his weight partially off her.

"Okay, John. I guess. You...you won't change your mind?"

"Only if you stop talking now and let me sleep," he muttered.

She smiled. "Okay, John."

"Okay, Moira."

"John?" She paused as he heavily sighed. She whispered in his ear. "Jo-hn," she teased in a sing-song way, making him smile. "I think I will take you back, colonel, but only on a trial basis. To be sure you won't be an idiot again."

"Fair enough, baby. And for that you're getting ten spankings on that pert little ass. Now if you want to make it eleven keep talking." She smirked. Snuggled against him but he suddenly sat. "Shit! I've got a mission today! Shit!" He met her gaze as she stretched out in the bed next to him. Smile fading into disappointment. "Sorry, Moira. I...um...shit."

She touched his arm. "It's all right, John. I think. You...just be careful, John. I'll be here when you get back."

"You better be, Moira. And don't you dare change your mind, baby," he added, scrambling out of the sheets to pull on his t-shirt, pajama bottoms. "You took me back."

"On a trial basis, sweetie. And if you ever try to dump me again, colonel, I will permanently remove that big, hard ordnance of yours."

He paused. Met her gaze. "Fuck. Noted, baby." He leaned close, kissed her. "Back ASAP." Then he was gone, striding out of the room.

**************************************************************************

"Shit." John was about to lead his team through the shimmering wormhole. He was feeling around in his TAC vest when his fingers encountered the rose. He stopped.

"Colonel? Should we not be going?" Teyla asked, exchanging a puzzled glance with Ronon.

"What's the hold-up? No, wait, don't tell me, Sheppard's got a–"

"Back in a sec!" John interrupted Rodney, spun on his heels and sprinted from the room. Leaving his team to look at each other in bewildered amusement.

Moira was just setting a tray of vials on the table when the sound of stomping boots made her turn. Nearly drop the tray. She set it down, watched as John ran to her. "John? What the–"

"Moira! I..." He glanced at the other staring scientists. Suddenly self-conscious. He drew her to a corner. "Here. I forgot." He pulled the rose from his pocket, placed it in her hand. "Sorry it's smashed. It's...a rose."

"Yes, John...I can see that," she replied, amused by his seriousness. His chagrin. "What–"

"The mainland. It matched the sunset. I thought, I thought you'd like it...you like roses."

"Yes, John, I do. Thank you. It's lovely!" she enthused, met his gaze. Touched by this sudden, out of character romantic gesture.

He shrugged. "Sorry it got smashed. I...um..."

She smiled. "It's lovely, John, really. I love you, John," she whispered. Quickly kissed his lips.

"Hadn't you better be going?"

"Huh? Oh, right. I...yeah..." He turned. Turned back to her. Kissed her. "Love you," he whispered in her ear. Then strode to the door. Turned again. "Moira!" he called, as she watched him. The rose clutched carefully in her hand. He patted his jacket. "I'm keeping the panties. See ya." He left.

Moira smiled, laughed. Blushing as her fellow biologists were looking at her with puzzled, amused expressions. She eyed the rose. Touched the soft petals. Sighed happily. Over the awkward romantic gesture. Over the whispered endearment. Over the passionate night.

Over the man she loved.


	5. Chapter 5

Ritualization5

Moira rushed. Rushed until the ache in her foot forced her to slow. She reached John's door. Knocked. "John? John!"

"Moira, come in," came his voice, sounding pleased.

She opened the door, entered. Closed it behind her. Took a few steps. Saw his pack on the floor, jacket tossed on the bed. "I know you just got back, John, but we have to–"

"Stop!" John stepped out of the bathroom, holding up his hand. "Unless your next two words are have sex I don't want to hear it. Or make love...but have sex would be more accurate, not to mention grammatically correct."

Moira stared at him, her mouth open but no words issuing. Fresh from the shower water sparkled in his dark brown hair. Sparkled sporadically on his skin, in his chest hair. Tiny rivulets running down one strong, muscled arm. He wore only a pair of gray running pants, loosely tied at the waist and perilously slipping down one hip. She found her voice. "John–"

"No. I'm serious, Moira." He walked over to her. Bare feet silent. His gaze raking over her loose hair. Dark green t-shirt snug around her breasts. Khaki pants clinging to her hips, to her rear if she would only turn for him to see. "Either say those two words...have sex...or get your pert little ass out of my room." She frowned. He smiled. "Look." He pulled her into an embrace. Kissing her. A long, lengthy, deep kiss. Opening her lips to his. His tongue probing, teasing, thrusting.

A murmur caught in Moira's throat. A rush of desire, ardor that inundated her body. Her hands slid up his wet chest, his arms. His mouth moved across her cheek, down her throat.

"See?" he asked, pulling back with an effort. "My lip is healed. Finally." He lifted his hand, revealed his palm to her. "My hand is healed. I'm all healed. Still, you will need to perform a very thorough ordnance check, baby, after nearly a week. A full inspection of every instrument. I may need some fine tuning. So...what was that you were saying? John, we have to..." He waited, expression suggestive. Desirous. Amused.

She laughed, captivated by the humor in his brilliant green eyes. By the love washing over her. By his nearly naked state. By the water trickling along his body. "Have sex," she complied.

He smiled broadly. "Excellent! You better believe it, baby." He pulled her into his arms, kissing her again.

Moira murmured, squirming against him. Matching kiss for kiss. Eager, hungry for him. After the tumult of breaking up, getting back together, the passionate night before he had gone on a mission, the week's separation and now their reunion she felt like she on a wild carnival ride. She broke free of his mouth to catch her breath, her thoughts. To speak. "John...oh John, I have missed this so much! Just to kiss you! To–"

He caught her mouth with his. Hands sliding down her back, to her rear to grasp, to squeeze. Eliciting a whimper from her captured mouth. "Me too, Moira. I miss all of you," he whispered hotly in her ear.

With an effort she pushed back from him, blushing. Aroused as a rush of desire made her vividly react to him. A tightness, wetness provoked by his ardor. By the feel of his body pressing hers. "John, we have to–"

"Have sex, I know, Moira, you don't have to tell me twice," he chided. Kissing her again before she could reply. Refute.

Moira found herself lifted. She grabbed his shoulders, gasping as his grip on her rear tightened. He kissed her deeply, possessing. Maneuvering until she whimpered, clutching at him. Receiving his passion without any objections. She heard a thudding crash as the table was swept clear. She found herself on her back on the table. John bent over her, on her, shoving her legs apart to get closer.

John broke the intense kiss. Caught his breath. Slid up her shirt. Smiled at the pale green bra. Slid it up as well and caressed her breasts. "Ah baby...at last."

"John," she gasped, trying to gather her scattered thoughts but he proceeded to teasingly kiss around her breasts. To lick up to her nipples. Mouthing each one as they hardened. Helplessly she arched, moaned as his mouth took more, more. His hands slid down to unbutton her pants. To unzip. To slide against the panties. He groaned, feeling her wet, ripe. Shifting as his fingers stroked, stroked. "John, oh John!" she exhaled. Trying to focus, melting under his attentions. Fingers locked in his hair, on his shoulders. The sensations wild, unbearable. She whimpered as the pleasure spiraled with promise.

He moved up to capture her mouth again. Then down to the scar on her side. Then down to her waist. The open pants luring him. Arousing him.

Moira scooted, batting at him, rocking. "John, John, no no no, I...oh God, oh God...I thought you wanted me to check your ordnance. Mine is fine."

He smiled at her breathless rush of words, passion threading her voice. Her need in very breath, every moan and sigh. His erection throbbed in his pants. Tension demanding release. He pulled his hand out of her crotch, stroked her thigh. Lifted to meet her wide-eyed gaze. "I've missed the taste of you, Moira," he said huskily. "Every inch of you...but you're right." With an effort he straightened. Pulled her to the table's edge. Pulled her to her feet.

"John," she cooed, embracing him. Showering him with kisses. Caresses. Succumbing to the wild desire. Need. Lust. Love. He drew her to the bed, fell back upon it. Pulling her with him to sprawl on top of him.

"There, baby, do your full ordnance check before I shoot off the launch pad."

"Sweetie, oh sweetie," she purred. Kissing him. She ran her mouth down his throat. Chest. Licking stray drops of water. Her body squirming on his as she kissed down his side. His waist to his pants. Teasingly lowered them, kissing as she went. John groaned, gave himself over to the sensations, the thrumming promise of pleasure so close, so close. Moira paused just before reaching his erection. Sat. Ran her hands along his hard eagerness. "Hmm...colonel, your ordnance feels fine to me. Maybe even too big, too hard...so fucking hard, colonel..."

"Ah, baby, you're ready for it, believe me," he breathed deeply. "Take me, Moira...as much as you can. Ease my burden of command, baby."

"Sweetie...oh sweetie..." She freed him, scooted up kiss him. "I can't...not now. John, we have to–"

"Have sex. Now." He kissed her, drew her down to him. Catching her hair in his fingers. "Moira, I don't care how, or where, just when. Now. Now," he insisted.

She kissed him. Sat, freeing her hair from his fingers. She caught his hand, checked his palm but only a faint scratch remained. She touched the black wristband. "John, aren't you even curious why I barged in here?"

"No."

"No?" she repeated. Annoyed.

"As long as you are here that is all that matters. As long as you come. Ah, baby," he teased, seeing her look of inevitable forbearance, knowing he would tease her, "you haven't come in nearly a week, have you? Unless you came by yourself and we both know that's just not as good, is it? Why don't you show me how you tried to come by yourself? Show me, baby."

"John!" she scolded, coloring at his lewd request. "You would have to go straight to kinky, wouldn't you?" He laughed. Moira kissed his hand. Slipped his forefinger into her mouth slowly. Tongue teasing. Lips pursed to suck.

John moaned, shifting on the bed. "Moira, damn...now who's being kinky? Damn...you have to stop that."

"Or what, sweetie?" she asked, pulling his finger out of her mouth. "You'll come? Poor sweetie, you haven't come in nearly a week, have you? At least not inside a woman, and we both know it's not the same as being in a snug, tight, sodden place now is it?"

"Fuck, fuck...you're going to kill me, I swear!" he muttered, hand tightening on hers. He groaned. "Moira, enough. Either get those clothes off your pert little ass or go down on me now. Please..." he added, voice strained.

She kissed him. "Damn, sweetie...I didn't bring a spare."

He grinned, watched her move to the edge of the bed. Lean down to remove her shoes. "Ah, baby..." he sighed happily. Reached over to brush his fingers along her rear. To slide under.

"John!" she scolded. "Hands off!" She stood, pulled off her pants.

He sighed again, staring at the pale green panties. "Finest ass in Atlantis, I swear...lean over, baby, lean over so I can see every fucking–"

"Shut up, sweetie." But she leaned as she sat, smiled at his appreciative murmur. She scooted to him, reclined on her back. Colored but ran her hands down her bare waist to the panties. Wondered at her boldness, but she was bursting with love, ardor, lust. Knew he would enjoy it. She ran her hands over the panties. "Ooh, John...they are really, really wet. So wet it tingles." She looked at him.

He was staring. Riveted. Gaze intense. Smouldering with love, lust. "Check," he said hoarsely.

She sighed. "I knew this would get you off," she complained. But slid her fingers, stroking. Reacting despite herself. Shifting. Arching. A moan. "Oh John...oh John, I need a man to fuck me, fuck me hard...do you know of any? Maybe John...Anderson?"

He grinned. "Hilarious, Moira! God, that is so hot!" He kissed her. Shoved her hand aside to replace it with his own. "You tease...you hot little tease...I can play that game too, baby, oh yes."

Moira gasped, squirmed at his more aggressive, intimate strokes. Senses reeling, spiraling out of control. Flooding. Legs spreading for him. "Oh John, John..." she moaned.

He kissed her again, withdrew his hand. "Your teasing makes eleven, baby. Now." He rolled her onto her stomach. "Up." She lifted her rear. He yanked down the wet panties. She whimpered, gasped, lowered her rear. He shoved her shirt up. Kissed down the small of her back. "I've been waiting all fucking month for this," he growled into her ear. Hand sliding onto her bare rear.

"Oh John, John...I can't wait much longer..." she breathed. Excited. Embarrassed. Feeling her body's vivid reactions. The aroma of arousal hot in the air.

"Nor can I, Moira. Damn...finest ass in both galaxies, I swear," he praised. Lightly slapped it. "One."

She gasped, shifted. "I shouldn't let you–"

"Two." He lightly slapped it again. "Three." A little harder.

She moved, scooting away but he followed. Ran his mouth on her back again. "John!"

"Four." A hit. "Five." A hit. "Six!" Another hit, harder to make her nearly squeal in protest.

"John!" she cried. "What is taking you so long?"

He laughed, scooted closer. Kissed her cheek, throat. Slapped her rear. "Seven. Eight. Nine." He grasped, squeezed. "Is your pert little ass sore, baby, 'cause I'll make it all better, I promise."

"Sweetie! Just finish it!" she scolded, shifting as he freed her.

He slapped her rear. "Ten. Eleven. And a bonus."

"A wha–" She squirmed as his pushed her thighs apart and slid his fingers under her. To stroke, to probe, to enter as she lifted, crying out, scooting up wildly, losing her breath as he teased and tormented. She whimpered, writhing as if trying to get away but he caught her. Rolled her onto her back.

"What was it, Moira? Oh, I remember. Down, under, up. Down. Under. Up," he wooed, kissing her as he yanked down his pants.

Moira lost herself. He seemed be everywhere at once. Moving with her, against her, pulling her up to yank off her shirt, to yank off the bra. Mouth moving on her skin, her lips, her breasts, her scar, her thigh. Skimming over her intimately as he shoved her legs wide. She pulled him up to her, over her. "John! Oh John!"

And then he was inside her. Sliding roughly, thrusting with pure sexual need. Moira gasped, groped, rocking with him. The pleasure escalating rapidly, racing to the brink, the brink as he plunged, plunged in and out. Creating a rocking momentum so vigorous the bed shook, shook. The headboard slamming into the wall repeatedly. His mouth captured hers. Fingers entwined with hers. Thrusting as she tightened, loosened, tightened over him. Legs wrapping around him, then freeing him to bend her knees, set her feet down on the bed to gain purchase, to lift, to receive him fully as she arched. Her nails raked his back as she came in a shuddering gasp, crying out but trying to muffle her sounds against his pillows, turning her head.

"Oh John! Oh John, John, John!" she cried into the pillow. The orgasmic release slamming into her. Nearly shoving her off the bed as he pounded into her.

"Moira...oh God...Moira, my Moira," he groaned loudly, but muffled his pleasure against her skin as he came in a burst, a violent ejaculation. Spasm after spasm colliding with her to make her writhe, clutch, grasp and whimper.

The bed was still rocking. Their bodies still locked together, climaxing. The sexual heat, need, lust encompassing them.

"John," Moira breathed, when she could speak. "John, you are going to kill me," she whispered hoarsely. Gentling her hold. Stroking his arms, his back. Kissing him. Lifting up to catch his mouth with hers.

"You are draining me, baby..." he teased, but finally slowed. Stopped. Fell upon her. Ragged breathing teased her hair. Her hot skin. "Oh Moira, Moira, we're not going anywhere. Except maybe to your bed."

"John..." She swallowed. Kissed him. Shifted, closing her legs but paused as he was still inside her. "You–"

"Not yet. Not yet...Moira..."

She caressed his back as he kissed her breasts, her throat. Nuzzling along her skin. Nibbling her earlobe. Moving to her mouth. Kiss after kiss until he lifted, slid out of her and rolled onto his back. Breathed deeply. Smiled. Body surging with sexual pleasure, pride. "Damn...and I just took a shower too."

She laughed, rolled onto him. Kissed him. "John, that was very, very kinky. Naughty. Wonderful. Wondrous," she praised.

"I know, Moira. We fucked out brains out, didn't we?"

"Ssh!" She kissed him again. Suddenly pulled his jacket over her to conceal her rear, her back. Pressed against him. "John...why did I come in here in the first place?"

He laughed. Held her close. Closed his eyes. "Hell if I know, Moira. But you did come. Repeatedly."

"As did you, flyboy. We need to find a more, um, isolated location. We are too loud," she complained, embarrassed.

He laughed again. "Are we? Yeah, we are. Can't be helped, baby."

Moira kissed him. Sliding up his body, running her fingers along his face. Into his hair. Mouth exploring his. Tasting his skin, his throat. His brow. Circling his ear.

"Higher," he intoned, as she lifted. He ran his mouth down her throat. "Higher." She scooted, kissing him. His mouth traveled down to her breasts. Hands caressing. Provoking.

Moira sighed happily, arched. Found her legs parting. Found her body rubbing against his. She slid back down to feel his stirring arousal. "John? How in the–"

"I want you, Moira. Over and over." He rolled them so she was beneath again. He moved against her but settled, kissing her. "Give me five. No, ten."

She smiled. Enjoying the feel of him on her. "John...we have to–"

"Have lots of sex, I know, baby. Give me ten, at least," he advised.

She laughed. "Will you let me finish my sentence?" she complained. But lost herself in his warmth, love, ardor as he stroked her side. Rolled so they were facing each other.

"Later."

She scooted free. Sat. Grabbed her bra and put it back on.

"Hey! There's no need to get dressed, baby. I'll be raring to go in–"

"Hilarious, John." She grabbed her shirt, pulled it over her head. Smoothed it down. She rolled onto her side to fetch her pants off the floor. Her fingers had just brushed the fabric when she felt his hand run up her thigh to her rear. "John! You–"

"Finest pert little ass in the–" he praised, pulling her against him.

She elbowed him. "Will you shut up about my ass?"

He laughed. "Afraid not." He kissed her throat, hand sliding down to her inner thigh. Between her legs. "Do you want me to take you like this, Moira?"

She murmured, shifting. Bumping back into him. Felt his arousal poking her. "Sweetie? You...another kinky–"

"This will turn you on, baby. Unbelievably. And me."


	6. Chapter 6

Ritualization6

John moved to his knees on the bed. Pulled her up to him. Kissed her. Kissed her again, a deep, searing kiss that made her murmur. Melt. Hands running up his chest. "Turn."

Moira eyed him, suspicious. But turned to face the wall. On her knees. "Sweetie? Like the Jumper? But this–"

"Yes, baby." He pushed up against her. Pushed her gently to the wall, leaning forward. He parted her thighs, running his hands along her skin. Brushed between her legs. She murmured. "Baby," he breathed into her ear. Kissing down her throat. He pulled the shirt off one shoulder, kissed her there. He caught her hands, raised them to press against the wall. Pinning her. "Baby, just say the word and I'll stop," he assured. Kissing her again. Groaned softly as he entered her.

Moira gasped, shifted on her knees as he slowly, carefully began to thrust. In. Out. In. Out. Moira murmured, moaned. She wrapped her lips around his forefinger, trying to silence herself as the whimpers were escalating. As he was causing waves of pleasure along every inch.

John groaned again, mouth moving to kiss her shoulder to quiet himself. A knocking made him freeze. Inside her. Another knock.

"Colonel Sheppard?"

Moira freed his finger, gasped. John inwardly cursed. Before she could move, could move away he leaned close. "No. Not a sound," he whispered in her ear. The strain of pausing was excruciating. He swallowed, leaned back. "Yes?" he snapped angrily.

Moira tensed at his voice. The raw anger, directed not at her but at the door. Wondered if that intensity would be directed back at her, not in anger but in passion.

"Colonel Sheppard? Major Lorne's team is scheduled for the debrief over M1M289. When would be convenient for you, sir?"

"Never," John muttered, but considered. As much as he could with the passion, lust consuming him. "Half an hour! Conference room. Go!"

"Yes, sir!"

"John..." Moira sounded tense, shifting. But he moved again.

"It's all right, Moira. He's gone." He kissed her throat, her shoulder. Began his slow momentum again. He freed one hand to slide it over her breasts. Down to guide her hips out a little. "Ah, baby...here we go..." He groaned, thrusting. Thrusting into her, plying the tightness with precision.

Moira clung to the headboard as it gently slammed into the wall. But she had to move her hands free as it slammed harder. Harder. She moaned, whimpering. Trying to stifle her crescendo of cries on his hand but his momentum built, built. The headboard slammed, slammed the wall. With each eager thrust. Deeper. Harder. Moira's gasping murmurs following it. Followed louder, louder, more intensely as he found every pleasure spot at this unique angle. Intensifying the eruptions of orgasms. She cried out, unable to stop arching, legs spreading, tensing as he rubbed strenuously. "John!" she cried, in a delirium of ecstasy as pleasure rushed.

John groaned loudly, coming in a rush. Thrusting again and again. "Fuck! Oh fuck!" He freed her other hand to grab her hips, haul her lower onto him. "Ah Moira! Fuck, fuck, fuck!" he exulted. The rest was an inarticulate grunting as he climaxed with a violent spasm. Over and over, as if it would never stop. The throbbing, pulsing demands finally shaking him, straining him to the very limits of endurance. Moira nearly sobbing as the climax kept coming, coming. John nearly rubbing her raw until at last he thrust hard, deep. Groaned long and loud, grabbing her hips to practically shove her onto him. He slipped out of her, leaning against her, exhausted.

Moira leaned on the wall, catching her breath, her self-control. The intensity of the orgasms nearly made her fall, scream. She trembled, trying to straighten. "John..."

John's weight was on her as he rested, spent. He turned his head, thought he heard voices. Listened, straining to hear over their ragged breathing, pounding hearts. "Ssh, Moira," he advised quietly, brows furrowed in concentration.

***********************************************************************

Mark Jacobs was standing at the door. Riveted. His ear pressed to the solid wood. He had been about to leave after delivering his message when he had heard a woman's soft, gasping cry. Another. Then a virtual concert of noises. Something slamming the wall. A woman's cry, coming hard, fast, intensely. Crying out the colonel's name. The colonel's groans, grunts, words inarticulate. The slamming, slamming of the wall as he undoubtedly took her. Took her hard. Then the quietness. The muffled noises. Soft sounds of sexual passion. Silence.

"Jacobs? Is Colonel Sheppard–" Aaron Josephes asked.

"Busy. Fucking busy." Mark smiled at Aaron. "Busy fucking, that is."

"What?" Aaron swallowed. "Then, then, then we should go!"

"Hell no." He took a step away from the door. "You should have heard them, Aaron! I've never heard anything like it! I mean, I've never had a woman make those kinds of sounds come out of me!"

"We should go–" Aaron insisted, blushing.

"And," Mark heedlessly continued, "I've never heard a woman come like that! So hard, so fast, shit, she was so into it she nearly screamed! I'm getting off just listening to her! Who does he have in there?"

'It doesn't matter!" Aaron said, highly uncomfortable. "We should go. It's none of our business."

"You know, don't you?" Mark realized. "Come on! Who is it? Who is giving the colonel the fuck of his life?

"Shut up! Do you really want to be out here when he opens that door? Do you want to end up like Parrish?"

Mark gulped. "Oh, yeah. Shit. All right, damn...you should have heard her, Aaron! And him! I mean, damn, they were really going at it like–"

"Shut up! Let's go!" Aaron strode down the hallway.

Mark followed. But circled back. Waited down the hallway. He had to see. Pushed down on his own erection. Turned on by the sexual concert.

************************************************************************

"John...please..." Moira whispered. She tried to move, embarrassed by the awkward position. The fluids trickling down one thigh. The heady aroma of sex, of sweat in the air.

John kissed her. Straightened. He pulled her upright against him. Soothingly caressed her waist. "Moira, sweetheart." He knew he had to proceed carefully. He eased them down to recline on the bed. Rolled onto his back. "I didn't hurt you, did I, sweetheart?"

"No." She stared at him. Astonished. Embarrassed. Pleasured. She snuggled against him. Hid her face on his chest. "No," she repeated. "You didn't...oh my God...John...you...I've never had such an intense sexual...two, no, three, no...I don't know...all those orgasms...all at once..."

He smiled. Stroked her back. Kissed her gently. "Me too, baby."

"Yeah, sure," she doubted.

"It's true, sweetheart. That was...that was fucking amazing! The best. The best purely pleasurable sex I've ever–"

"Not sex. That was fucking, John. Pure fucking," she corrected, flushing. She kissed his chest. Lifted her head to see his face. His smile. His love. His complete satisfaction.

"I guess so, Moira," he agreed. He caressed her rosy cheek. Kissed her lips gently. "I love you, Moira. You don't have to be upset or ashamed or–" he broke off as she took his thumb into her mouth briefly. Then leaned back to free it.

"I'm not upset, John. I...I'm astounded...amazed...I've never experienced something like that. So, so..." Her brown eyes were wide.

"It was astonishing, baby. You make me come in ways I can't even begin to describe."

"You are astonishing, sweetie. I wish, I wish you didn't have to go in thirty, but you do."

He kissed her. "Yes. But then I'm all yours. To do whatever you want, sweetheart."

She smiled. "I just want to be with you, John."

"Sounds good to me, honey." He sighed happily, stretched as she sat. Fixed her bra. Scooted to the edge of the bed. Leaned over to grab her pants.

"Ah, baby, finest pert little ass in both–"

"Sweetie, enough!" She looked round. "Do you see my panties anywhere?"

He laughed. Sat. "Nope. Do you really want to put them back on, Moira? Aren't they soaked? Drenched in your sweet, sweet–"

"Shut up!"

He laughed, watched her pull on her pants. Move to her hands and knees to look under the bed. Seeing them near his jacket he grabbed them, grinned. Slipped the sodden material under the sheets. "Hey, baby, you keep crawling around like that, with your pert little ass in the air and I may just have to take you again."

She stood, glared at him. "Shut up, sweetie!" She slipped on her shoes, sat close and kissed him. "John..." She kissed him again.

He pulled her down, kissing her. Moving her hair to veil their faces. After several kisses she pulled back, smiled. Ran her fingers in her hair, flipped it behind her. He smiled. "You are so fucking beautiful, Moira."

"I'm a mess, John! And smell of sex! Of you. Of me."

He laughed. "True, baby...you are just gushing with sex, arousal. You. Me. Fuck...it makes me want you all over again. Maybe I should spank that pert little ass more often. In fact I–"

"John!" She covered his mouth with her hand. "Stop. Stop talking about my pert little...oh shit! Now I'm saying it!" He laughed under her hand. She glared. "Stop obsessing over my ass, and stop, please stop calling me baby!" She lowered her hand to kiss him. Stood. Moved to the door. Turned to see him staring at her, sitting up. Smile on his handsome face. "Oh, and Sheppard, try to keep it in your pants for a few hours, would you? That fucking ordnance is almost lethal!"

He laughed. "You're the one who took it out, O'Meara. Trust you not to put away your toys."

She smiled. "I don't have a container big enough, colonel." At his hearty laugh she smirked, left the room. Smiling. Flustered. Hair a disordered mess. Clothes rumpled. She paused to smooth down her clothes. To compose herself. Then turned and walked down the hallway.

Mark stared hard at her. At first surprised to see who it was. Recognizing the paleozoologist on Major Lorne's team. He stared, as if he could see under her clothes. Imagining her naked, in the throes of sexual passion, of sexual intercourse.

He ducked back as John emerged a few seconds later. Dressed in a black t-shirt and gray pants. Hair combed but rumpled. Expression turning from a smirking, smug grin to a more neutral demeanor. He slipped his hand into the pocket of his pants, withdrew it and strolled. Nearly swaggered down the hallway. Mark quickly hastened to the conference room.

************************************************************************

John entered the conference room, sat. Turning casually as the others filed into the room, taking their seats. At his nod Evan began his report. John listened, but his mind kept straying to the previous hour. The incredibly intense sex. The way Moira had teased, tormented him. Played along in the seductions. The way she had come, over and over. Brought him over and over. Her ecstatic cries of his name. Her moaning exultation. His own. He noticed Mark looking at him. Noticed Aaron looking nervously at Mark, at himself. Subtle, quick looks. John recalled the voices he'd heard, or thought he had heard. Grew suspicious.

"So...nothing then," John stated, going back to the report. "No intel."

"No, sir," Evan sighed. "A perfectly pleasant planet. Pleasant people. No energy readings. No obvious tech."

"But...I hear a but, major," John detected.

"Yes, sir. I just had a feeling...there were some areas they didn't want us to see. Religious structures. So we acquiesced. No need to rock the boat and all."

"So you cloaked and did a fly over." It was a statement.

"Yes, sir," Evan acknowledged. "As you ordered, after the Genii. Anyway, no energy readings. Just those buildings." He tapped the screen. Structures appeared on the view screen on the wall. Thin, fragile buildings. Tall Lantean architecture.

"Hmm...nothing too...wait. Back that up." John straightened in his chair. All business. Alert. "There. Zoom in on that."

Evan pushed buttons. "Looks like a gun, sir. We didn't see any in the village. The people had staves and sticks. Not much in the way of weaponry. Oh, they did claim some monster or such was ravaging their lands and asked for our help. Our preliminary search brought up nothing, but I showed some footage to Moira of what we did find, just in case."

John nodded, keen gaze locked on the weapon. "Can you get any closer?"

Evan shrugged. The image blurred as he zoomed in on it. "That's all I can do."

"What is it, sir?" Aaron asked.

"I'm not sure. Major, take that to McKay. I need a digital resolution and enhancement of that one image."

"Yes, sir." Evan exchanged a puzzled glance with the others.

"ASAP, major. Dismissed." John leaned back, chin in hand, bringing up his own copy of the image on his data pad. He covertly watched the men. Mark was muttering under his breath. Aaron was shaking his head. They left. John waited. Could tell Aaron had something to say. Could guess what it was. Inwardly cursed.

Aaron hesitated. Hesitated. Climbed the stairs. Entered the conference room. Nervously closed the door behind him. Swallowed. "Sir?" He swallowed again. "May I, I..."

"Have a seat, lieutenant," John offered mildly. But his gaze narrowed. Anger simmered just below the surface.

"Sir. I...I know it's not my, my place...or I mean...I didn't do anything...I but Moira, Moira's on my team and is a friend and I don't want to see her hurt...or..." He faltered. Stared at the table. Blushing red.

"Doctor O'Meara? This concerns Doctor O'Meara?" John asked quietly.

"Yes, sir."

"And myself?"

"Yes, sir," he gulped.

John waited. Drummed his fingers on the table. "Well?" he snapped. "Spit it out! Now!"

"Sir!" Aaron stood with alacrity. "Sir! I came upon Jacobs standing outside your room. I asked if he had delivered the message to you about our return and he, he said he had been listening to...er, had been listening. At your door. For several minutes. Described what he had heard in, in detail, sir. I told him to, to get out of there, several times but he went on and on about what he had heard. Asked me who...I didn't say...finally he, he left with me but I think he may have doubled back to see, to see who came out of your, your...." He gulped nervously. "Sir, I thought you should know, in case...I thought I should tell you, sir, instead of Moira, Doctor O'Meara!" he swiftly corrected. "He might say or do..."

John was silent. His gaze falling inward. Narrowing. "I see. Thank you for telling me, lieutenant. And for not telling Doctor O'Meara. And for your candor. And courtesy. I'll take care of this. Dismissed."

John's hand clenched into a fist on the table. He glowered at the room, fury rushing in like a wave. Wondered if Jacobs had heard all of it. Especially the climax. Moira's voice caught in breathless ecstasy, catching on the delicious litany of his name as she came intensely. Her murmurs, her cries, her sighs, all of her sounds meant solely for him. His alone. His own groans and grunts of enjoyment, strain, release. He knew they had probably been overheard before this. Most people would have moved on, been amused or envious. But not Jacobs. He had stayed. Stayed to listen to the concert of their intercourse. Stayed to listen to every delicious sound escaping Moira's lips. Sounds for John's ears alone.

Jacobs had probably gotten off on it too. John knew he himself did. Then Jacobs had to stay. To see. To see her. To no doubt leer at her, trying to imagine her naked, writhing in pleasure.

John slammed his fist on the table, issuing a string of expletives that would make most marines blush. The data pad bounced, flew off the table. Swearing roundly he bent to pick it off the floor. Wanting nothing more than to grab Jacobs and strangle the life out of him. For daring to even look at Moira, to listen to her most intimate sounds. John would not tolerate anything or anyone impeding her passion, their passion. He would not allow anything or anyone to inhibit her, or him. There was still so much he wanted to do with her, to her.

"Sheppard, what is this ridiculous request of yours to clarify a distorted image of some old gun that looks like a...oh oh..." Rodney hesitated, one foot upraised, frozen in mid-stride as John sat, slamming the data pad onto the table. The glower of pure fury making Rodney gulp.

John restrained his fury with an effort. "I need a digital enhancement of that frame, ASAP! Can you do it?"

"Of course I can do it, I just don't understand the necessity of some antiquated–"

"Then do it!" John snapped.

"Okay. Give me twenty minutes," Rodney said, oddly mild. Realizing his friend's wrath was directed not at him but someone else. "Um, John...is everything all right?"

John inwardly swore. "Yes. Sorry, Rodney. Bad day."

"Okay. Twenty minutes."

"Thanks." John watched him leave. Cursing in his mind. Debating what to do. Quenching the murderous impulse to strangle Jacobs, or to shoot him. Just for ruining what had been an astounding, marvelous intimacy with Moira. He had to make sure she was protected. Shielded. But he knew the story would make the rounds of his men if not the city itself. Also knew that Jacobs was the kind of man who might approach Moira. And John would not allow that to happen. But he had to handle this carefully.


	7. Chapter 7

Ritualization7

Moira sat in the cafeteria, absently eating. Her mind was preoccupied. Still dwelling with wonder on the intensity of the intimacy with John. The vivid erotic coupling. She shifted on the chair, feeling it all over again. Even after a hot shower. Even after changing into a dark blue shirt and pants. Hair trapped in a tight ponytail. She glanced up suddenly. Four men were staring at her, smiling. One in particular was leering over her body.

She looked at her food, confused. Wondered if her blush revealed her thoughts. Thoughts of John. The things he had done. The things he made her feel. Made her do just by wanting them. Suggesting them. She glanced at her shirt. It was clean, not too tight, not too loose. She looked back but the men had turned away from her. Except the one who licked his lips at her. Uncomfortable she drank some water. Looked to see John suddenly there. Setting a tray on the table as he sat across from her.

"What are you thinking, sweetheart?" he asked gently. Began to eat. He had noted the men. How she had relaxed when he had joined her.

Moira smiled at him. "I was thinking of you, John," she admitted. Briefly touched his hand. Drew her fingers from his seeing the men watching. The one pursing his lips together, as if blowing her a kiss. She stared at her food, perplexed.

"Moira? Is something wrong?" John touched her hand, drew her gaze to him. Found the reason he sought. An opening.

"No. I...I'm still..." She smiled as his gaze warmed her. She could feel the undercurrent of anger, like a palpable entity between them. "Still marveling over our time together. Are you angry, John?"

He sighed. Couldn't conceal it from her. "Not with you, sweetheart."

She worried. He never used endearments in public. "John, what is...what is wrong?" Her gaze flitted to the table of men, back to him. The men looking at her, looking away. She pulled her hand from his.

"Why don't you tell me, honey," he suggested. Seeing the distress in her brown eyes even as she tried to hide it.

"Okay, now you're scaring me, John. Are, are you going to break up with me again?"

"What? Of course not, Moira. What has upset you?"

She sighed. Unable to keep it from him. "Nothing. Just, just men...those men looking at me...weirdly. I mean, it's not like they can see my pert little ass," she joked to lighten the mood but he frowned. "I mean, only, only you seem to like to look at it...I mean no one else looks at it."

"I'm sure they do, Moira, but that's not a problem unless it upsets you."

"I...I..." The intensity of his gaze made her stare, falter. "I just meant...I don't know why they are looking at me...no one looks at me...I mean, I mean...and the one is, is almost leering at me...made a creepy kissing motion with his...John? John, no!" She caught his arm as he stood.

"Eat your lunch, sweetheart. I'll be right back."

"John, no, I'm sure it's nothing! Please, don't–"

But he freed his arm, strolled to the table where the four men were assiduously eating. They stopped at his approach. Straightened in their chairs. "Samuels...did you just return from the mainland?" John asked, fully knowing the answer.

"Yes, sir. Peterson's group is due to take the next shift."

"Oh? Well, that order has just been rescinded. You and your team will be returning to the mainland for another stint."

"Sir? They're breaking up the land for plowing and the–"

"Did I ask what your duties were, Baker?"

"No, sir."

"Didn't think so. Report back to the mainland and help the Athosians settle. That's an order. Two weeks should give you plenty of time to cool your heads. Before anything unfortunate is spoken, hmm?" He glanced at each one, especially Jacobs. "I'm sure you've all had a good laugh at my expense, and yes, it was as impressive as you've heard. More so." They shared a quick laugh. John grew still. Solemn. Deadly serious. "If I hear one word, see one look, even suspect one comment directed towards Doctor O'Meara I will consider it my personal business to hunt you down and eliminate the problem." His cold, cold gaze bore into each of them. Lingered on Jacobs. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir!" the four men said, gulping nervously. Even Jacobs appeared cowed.

"Good." His tone was mild, but there was an acid edge to it. "Finish your lunch ASAP and get to the mainland."

"Yes, sir!" they chorused.

John waited. Watched them hurriedly eat under his stern gaze. He strolled back to Moira, sat. Began to eat his lunch. Noticed her stare. Her glance past him to the men. Then back to him.

"Aren't you hungry, Moira?"

"What did you say? John...you...look, the whole macho thing is quite sexy and all but you didn't have to say anything just because they were, were staring at me. I mean, it's not that big a deal. Unless...unless...John...is there more? What–"

"Eat your lunch, Moira," he advised.

"John, tell me. What's going on? It must be more. It must be something else to make you so, so angry. Tell me," she insisted. Tensing with anxiety.

"No."

"John! Tell me!"

"Here." Rodney joined them, sitting next to Moira. "I've calibrated the pixels and used a photosensitive digital enhancing program to–"

"So you've cleared it up," John translated. "Good. Thanks." He took the data screen, stared at it.

"It's just a gun lying on the ground. I fail to see the significance anyway. Since there were no energy scans on the planet it's more than likely a simple agrarian society. Are you going to eat that?" He pointed at Moira's plate.

Moira looked at him, smiled. "No. You can have the other half, Rodney. I'm not that hungry." She pushed her plate to him. He proceeded to devour the untouched half of the sandwich.

John glanced at them, smiled. Then eyed the screen. "This may be...significant."

"A gun?" Rodney questioned.

"Not just any gun. The same kind of weapon we encountered on M1M398."

"Hoth?" Moira asked.

John smiled at her. "Yes."

"Those nineteen twenty types of ordnance?" she asked.

"Yes."

"The nineteen twenties? What are you talking about?" Rodney wondered.

"That was it!" Moira exclaimed. "John! We have to go to that planet! The one Evan just visited. I saw something in the footage he filmed for me. I can show you on there." She snatched the data screen, accessing the entire file. "It's a significant discovery! If it proves to be a true thylacine and not just some aberration or distortion!"

"A what?" Rodney asked. "Another prehistoric animal?"

"No." Moira met his gaze, turning the screen so John could see. "That's what is so intriguing!" she enthused. "It could be an actual thylacine! A Tasmanian wolf, a massive predator that went extinct in nineteen thirty-six! If these animals are here, if there's a thriving, breeding population we could restore them back on Earth! Think of the possibilities! All of the modern mammals we could reseed from extinction to–"

"Well, that's slightly more interesting than a gun," Rodney quipped. "Slightly."

"Rodney!" Moira scolded. "This is big! Huge! A marsupial predator that was killed off by man's greed and arrogance! If they exist here we could establish a new population!"

John smiled, attracted by her enthusiasm. The sparkle in her eyes. The passion now directed at him. "We'll have to discuss this further, Moira. You'll need to walk me through this footage." He closed the data pad. "I need to do some additional research on this gun anyway, to be certain."

"Certain? Of what? That it's a gun? You can't tell?"

"Ha ha, Rodney. Moira, are you finished?"

"Yes."

"Let's go. We need to compare notes." He stood. He led her to the line of food. Grabbed a beer, a pink lemonade. A huge slice of cake. Two forks. "Dessert," he explained, balancing it all on the data pad.

Moira smiled. Followed him, curious. "John, why is that gun significant? Because of its origins? Oh! Oh, the technological advances? The society must have progressed up to–"

"Partially. Wait until we're alone," he advised. Paused outside her door. Raised a brow as she hesitated, eyed him. Eyed the cake. After a moment she opened the door, entered. He followed, wondering at her reluctance. But he kept silent, watched her move to the table. Instead he moved to the bed, sat. Set the data pad down. Opened his beer and took a long swallow.

Moira cleared a space, turned. Frowned. "John! Don't get crumbs on my bed!"

He laughed. "Please, Moira. I've gotten a lot worse on your bed than cake crumbs."

She sighed. "Don't be gross, John!"

He laughed. "Sorry. Come here."

She hesitated again. But sat next to him. Took the lemonade and drank. He grabbed a fork, began to eat the cake. She took the other fork, joined him. "Mmm...this is good. Chocolate and vanilla."

"Yeah. I thought you'd be hungry, baby."

"Sweetie, behave." She watched him down more beer. "Are you going to get drunk?"

He smiled. "On one beer? Hardly. I won't even get a buzz off this. You, on the other hand...want a sip?"

"No, thank you." She drank her lemonade.

John licked his lips. Let her gaze wander around the room. He stared at a snow globe that was new to him. The glass dome contained a flower. A red and orange rose, frozen in full bloom but appearing as if it had just been picked. Petals unfurled, curling slightly. A few drops of water like hard diamonds glittering when the light caught them. He recognized the flower. "Hey. Is that...is that the one I gave you? The crushed one?"

Moira chewed her cake. Followed his gaze to the knickknack on the shelf. She swallowed. Oddly nervous. "Um...yes. I...yes. John...you were...that is...that was so romantic."

He met her gaze. Shrugged off the sentiment. "Whatever. I mean, I just...you...you...anyway," he set the plates and utensils aside. Finished his beer as she finished her lemonade. "Take a look at this, Moira." He set the pad on his lap, opened it. Brought up the image. "I'm going to compare it to the actual pistols of the time period on Earth." He opened more windows on the screen. "See this? It's an early automatic, the ancestor of our P90. But not nearly as sophisticated. Note the lower firing power, the old-fashioned feed of bullets in a..." he paused a she scooted closer to him. Rested her head on his shoulder. "Boring you, am I?"

She smiled. "No. Well, a little. Can we skip the details, colonel?"

"No. The point is in the details, doctor. Look." He brought up the gun. "This one," he pointed, "is from Earth. A Smith Wesson twenty-two caliber with the engraved handle. Preferred by mobsters everywhere. In the nineteen twenties. Now look at the one Lorne spotted on that planet."

Moira looked at them. "They look the same."

"No. They are the same. Identical. Down to the little details. Can you explain that? I can see a society progressing to that level of technological development under the shadow of the Wraith. But so far when they do their weaponry incorporates more sophisticated touches. Lasers or sights or is made differently. Different materials. I might be wrong here but this is identical. Like it came from Earth, circa nineteen twenty-two or so."

"Hmm. What does that mean?"

"Hell if I know. But it could be important, Moira. It's right in front of me but I can't see it." He drummed his fingers on his thigh.

Moira raised her head. "All right, you've got something there, John. But let me show you this." She scooted closer, thigh pressing his. Fingers crossing the pad to change the window, the screen, the data. She smiled. "Am I pushing your buttons, sweetie?" she teased.

He smiled. "All the damn time, baby." He kissed her throat. Ran his hand to her back.

"Look. At the screen," she specified as his gaze was wandering along her body. "This is the footage Evan gave me. Look! That animal running across the background. Here." She tapped the pad. "I had Zelenka bring it up closer. Look! That, if I'm not mistaken is a real life thylacine! They went extinct in nineteen thirty-six, the last one dying in captivity." She paused, frowning. "Hunted to extinction. The only marsupial canine and it could still exist here!"

"Interesting...but there's the question again. When was it brought here? How far back did the Ancients go?"

"Marsupials? They are primitive mammals but thrived in the Pleistocene. The incredible thing is that while most of the prehistoric mammals died out before our own present era, or were killed off by humans the thylacine survived until nineteen thirty-six. And now, now if they exist on that planet..." She faltered as his fingers slipped under her shirt to caress his bare back. Slid down into her pants. "John? I don't think you see the significance of–"

"You are so sexy when you talk like a scientist, baby. It turns me on," he teased.

She laughed, closed the data pad. "Yeah, right, your eyes weren't glazing over at all," she chided. "And when you talk all guns and ammo it makes me want you, sweetie."

"Good." He kissed her, turning her face to his. He took the data pad, placed it on the floor as he smoothly moved her back against the bed. Kissing her slowly, deliberately prolonging each motion. Each movement.

"John?" she asked, gently pushing him. She winced.

"Moira? Did I–"

"No. It's not you. My foot. Sore." He sat. She scooted free, sat to slip off her shoe. Brought her foot up to clasp it. "It's been cramping. Must be the weather, I guess. No, not like that subsonic pulse, don't you worry," she answered his unasked question.

"Have you seen Carson about it?" he asked, gaze on her foot now.

"No. It's nothing. Just gets bad now and then."

"Here. Gimme." He gestured.

She hesitated. Turned to face him. Slid her foot to his lap. He took it, began to remove the blue sock. "No, John! It's more, more sensitive...leave the sock."

He raised a brow. "I've seen the scars, sweetheart." Nevertheless he acquiesced. Began to massage her foot. She winced as pain flared, then relaxed as he gentled his grasp. Flexing the muscles with his fingers. He could feel the scars even through the fabric. He laughed suddenly.

"What? What's funny?" she asked. Nervous.

"I was just remembering. You had your socks on the entire time we were having sex. I think that's funny," he explained with a smile.

She smiled. "Oh, do you? At least it's not kinky."

He laughed. "Could be, baby. Only if you had on knee-high Argyll socks and a tiny, tiny schoolgirl skirt that barely covered your pert little ass."

"John!" He laughed again. She smacked his arm. "Sorry, sweetie, I didn't bring a skirt to this galaxy. A schoolgirl? Now you want to roleplay? The schoolgirl and the colonel?"

He grinned. "Yeah, baby. The analytical scientist and the rough and ready soldier...oh wait. We do that one already."

She laughed. "Behave, John. Or I may have to tie you to the bed."

He sighed. "So you keep promising, Moira, but you haven't done it yet." He leaned close, kissed her. "Better?"

"Yes. Thank you." She moved his hands off her foot. "I, I suppose you have to go now." She stood, crossed to the table. "I'll do some more research on the thylacine. But I've run several comparisons and I'm sure that the animal Evan filmed is a thylacine! And you, you've run several comparisons about that gun, right? John...you'll be planning a mission, right?" At his silence she turned to the bed. "John?"

He was stretched out on the bed, watching her. "I've got nowhere to go, Moira. Right now. So...I think I'll stay here. If that's all right with you. Tell me about the rose."

"What?" Moira stared, wondering what he was doing. She glanced at the rose under glass, back to him. He was still watching her. Expression calm. Voice mild. Long body reclining on her bed, but his knees were bent, feet still on the floor. "The rose? I..." She bit her lower lip a moment. "I wanted to keep it."

"I can see that, sweetheart. So...how?" he asked, keeping her in the innocuous topic. At the same time trying to lure her to him.

"I...you really want to know? I...um...Rodney."

"Rodney?" he prompted. "But he was with me on that mission."

"Yes. No. I mean, it was his idea. I mean he devised a way to save viable samples like that and keep them in a pristine condition for further analysis. Not that the rose is a viable sample and I am not going to analyze it or anything but I asked Zelenka and he used the formula to permanently freeze the rose to preserve it forever under glass John why am I babbling again I'm suddenly so nervous since we're alone and after that, that sex and stuff and oh hell."

Moira moved to the bed. She slid over him. Kissing him. Unable to resist, unable to keep away from him. Sweet, savoring kisses. John's arms slid around her. Fingers stroking her back, her hair. Freeing it from the ponytail as she nibbled his lower lip, gently sucked at it. Soft noises in her throat arousing him. She scooted up to see his face. "I...um...I..."

"Whatever you desire, sweetheart. It's all right. We don't need to be that intense every time," he soothed. He scooted them up to the pillows. She moved off him to pull something off the table, conceal it in her hand as she sat near him. Relaxed by his words. Debating. Finally came to a decision. "John...how much time do we have to be together?"

"I'll just need an hour to go over the mission specs. Why?"

"Is this really what you want, colonel?" she teased into his ear. Kissed him again. Opened her hand to reveal two long black ribbons.

"Moira?" he asked, surprised. Delighted.


	8. Chapter 8

Ritualization8

Moira smiled. Drew his arms up to the headboard. Took one of the black ribbons and wrapped it around his wrist. Tied his wrist to the headboard. "Is this what you want, John? To be tied up?" she teased. She moved over him, caught his other hand. She touched the black wristband. Hesitated. Then raised his arm to the headboard. Secured the ribbon below the black fabric. "Is that all right?"

"Fine, baby. Ah... Moira's got a kinky fantasy," he teased in a sing-song voice.

She smiled. Kissed him. "The knots aren't too tight, so don't struggle. And don't break my headboard, flyboy."

"Depends on what you do to me, baby," he retorted with a smile. He moaned happily as she kissed him. Hands running along his body. Stroking his pants.

"Hmm...not hard by half, colonel?"

"Give me a second, baby, please," he complained.

She moved off him. "Hang on. Don't you go anywhere, sweetie."

"Hilarious, Moira." He watched her walk to the dresser. Grab some things and disappear into the bathroom. He waited. Tested the ribbons. Pulled again. "Hey, these are knotted tighter than you said! Moira? If you leave me like this I will break the headboard, baby!"

She laughed. "Wouldn't it be hysterical if I left the room?"

"No! Not at all. Moira?" He lifted his head, trying to peer into the bathroom. Curiosity and arousal making him smile, shift on the comfortable bed.

"John Sheppard. John Sheppard, what are you doing to me? Look at the things I do for you." She came out of the bathroom.

John stared, smiling broadly. Her hair was loose. She had on a white, partially unbuttoned blouse. What looked like a short blue skirt. Very short. With knee-high blue socks. Bare thighs showing as she walked to him. She turned. A glimpse of her bare rear could be seen as she saucily wiggled. "Damn...baby...where..."

"You have to be inventive, sweetie. So...are you getting off?" she asked coyly. Moved onto the bed. Crawled over him on her hands and knees.

"Oh baby, I am now," he assured. Watching her. She kissed him, catching his mouth with hers. Hair falling all around them in a silken cascade of brown. Her body poised above his but not touching. Not yet. He moved his arms but was still held by the ribbons. "Moira."

"You listen to me, colonel," she lectured. Sat next to him, giving him a brief view of her crotch before she primly crossed her legs. "We have some ground rules. Copy?"

"Copy, baby," he agreed, anticipating. Enjoying every second of the game.

Moira kissed him again. Stroked his chest. Sides. Waist. Pants. She unbuttoned. "First rule. You stay tied up. Copy?"

"Copy that. Next?"

She unzipped his pants. "Second rule. You try to keep quiet, as will I. As quiet as we can be."

"I don't know about that, Moira," he cautioned.

"Second rule, John, or I'll leave you tied to the bed and go work in the lab."

He frowned. "Fine. Quiet. Next?"

She smiled. Kissed him. Tugged his pants down. He lifted to assist in their removal. She pulled off his boots, his socks. Slid to yank off his pants. She felt something in the pocket. Pulled out a pair of green panties. He laughed at her surprise, disgust. "John!"

"Hey, look! We found your panties, Moira!"

"John! Have you had them in your pocket all day?"

"Yes."

She shook her head, dropped them to the floor. "Ugh! You are so gross, sometimes!"

He laughed. "I'm a guy, baby. They turn me on. Now...is there a rule three or are you just stalling?"

"What? Oh!" She straddled him, leaned down to kiss him. "Rule three, sweetie. My pace. Not full throttle unless I order otherwise. Copy?"

"Copy, baby. Are you checking my ordnance now?" he asked.

She smiled. "Every piece of it, sweetie. Colonel Lover boy," she teased, kissing him. He moved his arms, hands to touch her but the ribbons held him. She shifted on him. Ran her fingers through her hair. Ran her hands down her breasts still encased by the shirt. She kissed him, moved her mouth down his jaw, throat in a slow exploration.

John happily moaned, relaxing, enjoying her attentions. Affections. He could feel his body reacting to her. His arousal growing, growing. Body tensing with it as she slid off him. Shoved his shirt up to kiss his chest, his waist. Mouth traveling down to his boxers. He groaned. "Oh baby, baby, yes...yes..." he said gruffly.

"Colonel Sheppard, are you receiving?" came the voice in his ear, but John was absorbed by the sensations, the arousal. Engulfed by Moira.

"Yes, baby, receiving you loud and clear," he answered, mistaking the speaker.

"Sir?"

Realizing his mistake he swore quietly. Moira sat, laughed. Laughed heartily as his mistake, his expression. Muffled her merriment against his bare thigh. She moved up, tapped his earpiece as John scowled at her.

"Yes? This is Sheppard. Copy?"

"Sir, were you planning the mission specs?"

"Yes. I'll need...an hour?" Moira nodded. "An hour," he confirmed.

Moira smirked. "You are overly optimistic, John. I'd say..." she glanced at his hardening cock, back to him, "maybe ten, no eleven minutes," she teased.

He narrowed his eyes at her, said, "I need time to very, very thoroughly research the data. But at the moment I'm tied up so it will be an hour, like I said. Maybe two." He smiled at her wincing at the pun. "Sheppard out. Sweetheart?"

Moira moved to click off the earpiece, to remove it. Set it aside. As she leaned over him he moved his hand to grasp a breast. To caress, finger the hardening nipple. "Naughty, naughty, John!" she scolded, kissed him. "Guess I'll have to start all over now," she pouted.

"Hmm...yes, baby. Please," he encouraged. She kissed his hand. Took his finger into her mouth to suck. To swirl. John groaned, getting harder as he mouth teased his finger. As he got a glimpse of her as she shifted. She freed his finger to kiss his lips. His mouth hungrily taking hers, tongue thrusting between her lips. "Are you wet, baby?" he asked, voice rasping.

"Sweetie...so wet, so tight," she complained. Whispered in his ear, "don't you wish you could feel it?"

"God, yes!" He moved, yanking. The headboard rattled. "Oops!"

She laughed, kissed down his throat. "Is this better, colonel?" she teased. Slid his shirt up again. Kissed down, down, down to his boxers. Feeling her own reactions, her own arousal. He moved under her. "Ooh, colonel, you've got some very big, very hard ordnance here!"

"Damn, Moira...you are making me rock hard," he noted happily. Impatiently.

She caressed him, then ran her mouth against the boxers. Up and down the hard length of him as his erection struggled to be free. John jerked. Groaned. She lifted her head. "Quiet, sweetie. Rule two."

"Sorry, sorry, but you..." He fell back as she repeated the motion, but this time wrapping her mouth around him, around the fabric. Drenching him, feeling him jerk, react in her mouth, although the fabric still separated them. "Oh God...Moira....Moira..." he breathed. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," he quietly moaned, arched, fell back. The tension unbearable. Exciting. It was surprising and unbelievable what she was doing to him. When her mouth brushed the head of his cock he almost lost it. Yanking the ribbons so the headboard rattled.

Moira pulled free suddenly, feeling his tension, his readiness. He was almost coming right now. Even through the fabric. She wiped her mouth. "John," she said in a matter-of-fact voice, "you should have silk. It would be much smoother than cotton."

"Huh?" John had no idea what she was saying. But relaxed slightly as he hovered on the brink. Fell back a pace.

She smiled. Stroked his bare thigh. "It would be easier and sexier if you had silk boxers, not cotton. Think how much closer my tongue would be to your skin."

He groaned. "Then just go down on my skin, baby, please! Oh please," he insisted.

"Not yet, sweetie. I can only go this far right now." She appeared flustered. A blush warming her cheeks as he stared. Wanting. She slid up to kiss his mouth. He greedily returned the kiss but she drew back. "Now be quiet and don't break my headboard. Seriously, John, if you had a pair of black silky boxers..."

"Moira! Can we discuss my underwear choices at another time? I'm going to come right now, with or without you!" he warned tersely.

She laughed. Kissed him. "Sorry, sweetie." She slid her hands down. Ran her nails lightly on his chest, waist. Digging a little to make him groan. She yanked the boxers down. Lifted and took him into her, straddling.

John sighed, grunted but quieted seeing her reproving look. Watched her move up and down. The skirt flying a little to give him tantalizing views. She ran her nails on his waist again, murmuring softly as he spiraled, spiraled. He filled her, lifting, thrusting but she caught his thighs, moving faster, faster as he wanted. She whimpered, trying to keep quiet as he moaned, lifting to aid her. To go deeper. The headboard rattled again as he tried to move, to touch, to take her. Wished the shirt was off, the skirt was off, but gave himself over to the pleasure.

Moira moved faster, using him to rub, to rub the spot. Fingers tightening on his thighs. "Oh John!" She paused, lowered her voice to a frantic, breathy whimper. "Oh John, oh John, oh John, John, John!" She came a long whimpering tide of orgasm.

He groaned, coming after her in at a more leisurely pace. A sudden spasm. "Ah baby...that's even sexier than your louder cries...fuck, fuck! I want to...I need..." He thrust harder, deeper.

She moaned, arching, moving faster on him, riding him harder now. Inarticulate. She cried out hoarsely, shifting, angling to place him where she needed him, wanted him to be. He came again, more of a release now, straining, thrusting to spurt but suddenly she was gone. Pulling away from him. Slid up to cover his mouth with her hand. Her wetness trailing on his thigh. "Ssh! John, sweetie, now cut it out!" He kissed her hand. She kissed his lips repeatedly. Body squirming on his. Legs wide open. Brushing his fading erection. Almost teasing it to life again.

Moira slid up to untie his wrists. First one, then the other. Her breathing heavy. John bent his arms, shifted his back. She smiled. "Are they stiff? A little stiff?"

"A little...but there's a nice, big, stiff present for you down there."

"Not yet, colonel," she chastised. Kissed him.

He slid his hands under her shirt, her bra to cup her breasts. To tease. "Down, please."

She scooted. Leaned so he could kiss her throat, her breasts. To run his tongue along the hard nipples to make her squirm, murmur. Moan and arch as he gently nibbled, sucked.

"Ssh, Moira, or I'll spank that pert little ass again," he teased. He grabbed her. Pulled her onto him. Rolled so she was beneath him.

"Did you like it, John?" she asked, as he kissed her throat slowly. One hand sliding to pull the skirt off her easily.

"I loved it, Moira. You brought me in a way no woman ever has."

"What?" She stopped him. "You've never been tied up before?"

"No."

"Really? Come on, John! I don't believe–"

"I'm coming, Moira, believe me." He kissed her. Hands free to glide over her body. Mouth to move to her breasts again as he unbuttoned the shirt, shoved the bra aside. Hands sliding down her waist to touch, tease between her legs.

She shifted, losing her breath as his fingers teased. Brushed and probed. "Oh John! Oh...John, John," she softened her voice.

He smiled, moved to the scar. Kissed lower, lower, right to her opening when she protested with a squealing sound. Caught his shoulder. "No, no, John...no..."

"Are you sure, Moira?" he asked, pausing. Fingers stroking. An excruciating tease as she tightened. Welcoming him, wanting him.

"Yes...not, not that...not now...you...strawberries," she managed to say.

He relented. Slid up to kiss her deeply. Gliding his tongue in as his now very erect cock slid into her as well.

Moira gasped at the abrupt sensation. He began to move in and out steadily, methodically. She clutched his arms as he pressed, pressed. Kissing her repeatedly. Hand moving to her breast again. She lost her breath, moaning, rocking with him. Rocking the bed in a steady motion. "John, oh John! John..."

"I know, Moira...not full throttle," he reassured, nibbling her throat, her ear. "Moira, my Moira...my own sweet Moira," he wooed, "only half-throttle for you but you'll still come, baby, come so hard under me...oh fuck fuck, fuck that is so fucking sweet!" He reveled in the sex, the love, the perfect fit.

She moaned, trying to keep quiet but the rhythm was steady, accelerating the pleasure nonetheless as John rocked them, joined them repeatedly. She tightened, feeling the orgasm coming, coming. She kissed his shoulder, lifting to muffle her whimpering tide, her stuttering gasps. But John pinned her down, mouth on her throat as he thrust, thrust harder, quicker. "John! Oh John, oh John, John, John!" she exulted softly, strained voice rushing him as she came in a flood. "John!"

He groaned, as turned on by her fervent whispers as by her wild cries. The mutual pleasure of their bodies joining, joining. He shoved, shuddered, fell upon her as he came in a release, a rush of possession. He breathed deeply, finally exhausted.

Moira tried to catch her breath. Stroked his back. Feeling muscles ease, relax. "John? That...that was half-throttle?"

He weakly laughed at her astonishment. "What can I say? You turned me on so hard I needed to have you again. Fast and hard," he smugly asserted. Voice thrumming on her skin. "You're wearing me out, baby, but I love it. I love it!" He lifted his head to smile at her. To passionately study her. "Moira...I've never had such sustained, inventive, luscious, luscious sex each and every damn time. We fucking come each and every damn time!"

She covered his mouth with her hand. "My, that is praise indeed from you, sweetie, and your vast experience with your lots some women."

He moved her hand off his mouth. "I'm serious, Moira! I–"

She kissed him. "Move." He rolled off her. She snuggled against him. Pulling the shirt down primly. "I know, you're always serious about sex, John."

"Yes, I am. And I meant what I said, Moira. This is the best sex we–"

"John, enough! Yes, the sex is amazing. Yes, you're making me do things I never would have imagined me doing. Yes, you are astounding me with variety and duration. And my God, John...the, the orgasms! I've never felt anything like it! So shut up and take a nap with me."

He sighed, arm encircling her. "I don't know whether you are pleased or pissed, Moira."

"Good."

"Good? I'm trying to tell you that this is the very best sex I've ever had and you don't believe me," he complained.

"What do you expect, John? With your lots some women? You don't tell me you love me! You wax on and one about the amazing sex. You're only going on and on to probably have more sex. Am I wrong? No," she answered before he could reply, refute. "So shut up, sweetie, and go to sleep. I'm so tired..."

He laughed. "Sorry, Moira. I'll go to sleep. Consider me reprimanded." He kissed her brow. "I do love you."

She smiled. "See? Was that so hard?"

"No. Not as hard as it could be unless you went down again on me."

"Shut up!" she sighed, exasperated. "Men."

He laughed. "My Moira."

After several peaceful moments she lifted to view his handsome face. Closed eyes. "John? Is that why you were angry earlier? Did...did someone...someone, um, overhear us during that, um, when you took me against the wall or your bed?" He inwardly sighed, remained silent. "And...oh...oh..." She sat, suddenly worried.

John opened his eyes. "Moira...don't think about it. I handled it."

She blushed. Remembering her ecstatic, loud cries. His noisy groans and grunts. The sheer intensity of the sex.

He stroked her thigh. "Come here, sweetheart. I don't want you upset. That's why I wouldn't tell you. I handled it. Not a word, or look is going to be directed towards you."

She sighed. Looked at the door. "Damn it. I...I can't–"

"No. I don't want any restraints on us. Unless you want to tie me up again," he teased. Grew serious. "Moira...don't let it bother you. It's handled."

She laid down, snuggled into him. He kissed her. "But it was more than that, wasn't it? To make you that angry."

"It doesn't matter, honey." He stroked her back. "Nothing will touch you. Ever. Don't be upset, Moira. I won't let anyone upset you."

She sighed. "I'm sorry. I'll, um, dial down the exuberance."

"No. You won't. And don't apologize. I want your exuberance, as you want mine."

She kissed his chest. Reveling in his love, his warmth, his protection even as she felt mortified that someone, anyone had overheard them. "It's your fault. You make me come so hard, so fast, so incredibly," she complained.

"Yes. I know," he said simply. Trying not to laugh.

She frowned, sensing his amusement. His pride. She hit his arm. "Don't be so damn happy about it, John! It's not funny!"

He smiled, kissed her brow. "Sorry, honey. Can we get some sleep? I'm worn out."

"Finally," she grumbled, causing him to chuckle. She kissed him, snuggled. "John...what are we going to do? We...we...need a safe place. You know? A, a private place."

"Don't you worry, honey. I'll figure something out for us. Just us."


	9. Chapter 9

Ritualization9

Moira barely dozed. Snuggled next to John, all warm and cozy and pleasured nevertheless her mind kept turning on tangled thoughts. Emotions. She sat, unsettled but pleased. Worried but happy. She glanced at John. He was dozing, caught in a light sleep. She envied his ability to fall asleep so quickly right after sex. Almost resented him for it. She scooted free, stood and pulled on her panties, pants. Replaced the women shirt with a more comfortable t-shirt.

She moved to snuggle next to him. Turned away so as to not disturb him. Stared at the room. Pondering what he wasn't telling her. Looked at the door, trying to imagine someone standing there, listening. Not only overhearing their sexual intercourse but staying to listen. Recalling her loud sounds she blushed. Mortified at the thought. Realized that would make John angry, to think of someone listening deliberately to them. She swallowed nervously.

Decided. She nudged him. "John? John?" She sat, pushed at him. He mumbled. Hand sliding to caress her hip, her thigh. "John! Wake up! John!"

He opened his eyes, awake. Stared up at her. "Huh? Moira, is there something wrong?" He frowned seeing she was dressed.

"Yes. You have to go."

"Go?" He blinked. "Go where? Moira? You're not, you're not breaking up with me, are you?"

"No, John. But you have to go." She looked at the door.

"What?" He sat, eyed it too. "Did you hear something?"

"No...but...look, John, we have to stop. I mean, we have to be more discreet. Quiet. We..look, John, we can't let anyone know...anyone hear...anyone...I..."

He smiled. Kissed her, turning her face to his. "Easy, Moira. I know. But we are not going to stop. Hell no. Don't you worry, baby."

She sighed. "I know this is a big joke for you, sweetie, but for me it's not."

"I know."

"And?"

"And? And what?" He languidly stretched. "I told you, sweetheart, it's handled." He grabbed his clothes, got dressed, sliding out of the bed. Moira turned to stare at the rose under the glass. Frozen. Forever blooming. "No one will touch you, Moira. No one will say a word. It's handled, like I said." He moved to sit next to her. Touched her arm. "Moira?"

She sighed. "John...I just...John..." She met his puzzled gaze. "Go."

"Okay." He kissed her. Stood. "I'll be in the conference room if you need me, sweetheart. I've got to prep the mission specs. Come find me in say, an hour, okay?"

"Okay, John. An hour."

"Don't you worry, baby. Things are fine. More than fine. Aren't they?"

She smiled. "Yes, between us, John, of course. It's just–"

"Doesn't matter then, does it?" He kissed her again. "You. Me. That's all. An hour."

***********************************************************************

Moira checked her watch. Checked the clock on the wall. With a soft sigh she made her way to the conference room. She stood in the doorway, watching him. John was seated at the table, leaning forward as he worked at a data screen. Handsome features serious, intent. Marveling for a moment she forgot to enter. Struck by the sheer beauty of him. The utterly masculine angles of his face, his body. Amazed how she had ever caught his notice, much less his interest. Even less his love, his affection.

John glanced up, smiled at her. She smiled, jolted out of her thoughts. Entered the room. "Hi."

"Hi." He watched her walk to him. Brown eyes solemn despite the smile. Full of affection, admiration which made him oddly content, oddly satisfied. "Sit."

She remained standing. "How are you going to separate the teams? Both teams are going, right? To cover both areas?"

He nodded. "Yes." He lounged back in the chair, lazily. Shifting to give her a generous view of his crotch as he scooted the chair back from the table. "I trust you found your panties this time?"

"Hilarious, John." She shook her head. "Nice. Not too obvious at all, flyboy."

"Good. I was going to subtle," he remarked, lifting upwards a little. They laughed. "Lorne will meet and greet since they know him already. And you can go chasing after your alleged thylacines. That should distract them for hours...especially if they are following you and you start to walk real, real fast in those tight khakis."

"Hilarious, John," she sighed at his grin. "What about you, sweetie?"

"Ah, baby, I am serious. That should distract them for hours...I'd follow that pert little ass anywhere, anywhere at all, just to get my hands on that–"

"John! Focus!" she scolded. Took the seat next to him. "The mission?"

"The mission? What mission? Oh, that mission!" he concluded to her glare. "I'm going in covert, stealth mode to investigate those alleged religious centers. And to locate more of that antiquated ordnance."

"God you are so hot when you talk all military," she teased, making him smile. "Stealth? Isn't that a little underhanded?"

"Yes," he agreed. "After the Genii I don't take any agrarian society at face value. Call me paranoid, but I prefer...cautious."

She smiled. "Okay, Colonel Cautious."

He straightened suddenly, hands on the table. Gaze serious. "Moira, don't go wandering off by yourself on that planet. I don't care if you find a whole herd of those thylacines you–"

"Pack."

"What? Pack what? A toothbrush?"

She laughed. "No, John. Packs. Thylacines might travel in packs, not herds. They are predators like wolves, not prey animals."

"Oh. But you get my point. Do not wander off by yourself. Keep in sight of Lorne and Josephes at all times. I'm serious, Moira."

"All right, John. I won't wander," she assured.

"And here. I want you to wear this." He handed her an earpiece.

"I already have–"

"Not like this, Moira. It's permanently set to channel three. We are the only two who have access to that channel. Call me if something goes wrong, or you see something or anything suspicious. I'll do the same. And just to be certain we'll use our code names."

"Code names?" she asked, taking the earpiece. "Oh! You mean sweetie baby?"

"Yes, baby sweetie," he agreed, smiling. "Our code names."

"Got it, colonel." She touched his hand on the table. "You think there's going to be trouble?"

"Yes. I want to be prepared."

"It's the ordnance, isn't it?" she asked after a moment. "You think...what do you think?"

"I think I want to get into bed with you, Moira. But this time I want you completely naked. Head to toes."

"John, what are you thinking?" she repeated, ignoring his suggestion.

"I'm serious, Moira," he retorted, gaze roving over her. The blue and green t-shirt, the black pants. "I'm wondering...your undies. Green? Blue? A mixture of both? Or something completely unexpected...like, say...hmm...pink? Purple?" At her exasperated expression he smiled. "We'll have the whole night to ourselves, baby, so let's not waste a moment in here." He stood, closed the data pad. "Unless you want to do it in here. The table's certainly wide enough, big enough." He grinned, winked at her.

She laughed. "John! No more kinky! You know what would be novel? Sex in a bed."

He laughed. "A bed? Baby, we had sex in a bed today–"

"No roleplaying or kinky–"

"But I like the scientist and the soldier," he pouted. Making her smile.

"Hmm...so do I, sweetie." She glanced to the open doorway, back to him. "John, what are you thinking? About the mission?"

He sighed. Leaned back on the table. Arms crossed over his chest. Giving her a generous view of his entire body. "So...black silky boxers, was it?"

She smiled. "Yes, sweetie. No schoolgirl outfits. But yes, a definite yes on the boxers. Nice and silky, cool to the touch. Like a second skin to melt in my mouth."

"Shit." He shifted, imagining it. The feel of her mouth on him. Pressing. Sucking. "Silk it is, baby. Are you sure about the schoolgirl outfit?"

"Yes. Now, John, tell me. Why are you being so secretive?"

He licked his lips. Glanced to the open doorway. Back to her. "It's nothing, Moira. Just...suspicion. Possibilities. That's all. There's more to that planet, those people than meets the eye. That's all." His voice was quiet.

"You think this is the planet you've been searching for. The source of that unusual ordnance. But it can't be the source of those cavemen. They are incongruent with the level of technology evinced by that gun. John?"

"Fuck that is distracting...silken boxers in that luscious mouth of yours, baby...but I can multi-task. Yes."

"Yes what?" she asked, frowning.

"Yes, your seductions are making me hard. Yes," he continued before she could protest, "I suspect that planet is the source of that peculiar ordnance and maybe even the cavemen we encountered previously. Most certainly Baldy came from there. Remember him? And yes, they may not possess any Ancient tech but they are aware of it. Something's there, Moira. And I think it's not something good. For us. For Atlantis."

"Hence the subterfuge. Two teams. One visible, one not," she surmised.

"Bingo."

"You're holding back something," she accused, studying him.

"Yes," he freely admitted. "It's probably nothing. But it's why I gave you that special comm unit, among other reasons."

She considered. Chewed on her lower lip a moment. John stared, anticipating, but she freed her lip before making that soft sound he found so alluring, so arousing. Her brown eyes widened. "Ford? You think–"

"Ssh!" He moved past her, closed the door. Stepped back to her as she turned to watch him. Alarmed. He pulled her into his arms. Kissed her. A long, exploratory motion of his mouth on hers. Demanding. Suggesting. "Possibly."

"Huh? Oh, oh Ford! There's no way, John! The last we saw of him he was being carried away by those cave creatures!" she exclaimed.

"I know. But you don't know Ford. Never, never discount or dismiss him," he informed her, deadly serious. Gaze so intent she felt herself melting. Hoped that intensity would translate into passion. She stroked his arm as he still held her. Bodies barely touching.

"There's no way he could have survived much less escaped from–"

"I've seen him survive capture on a Hive ship, Moira. And his men could be hiding on that planet too. Maybe. And if that is the case we will be taking them out. And I don't mean to dinner," he glibly added, smirking.

She playfully hit his arm. "I know that, colonel! You...you don't mean..."

"Yes. I do mean, Moira. I'm not repeating the mistakes I made with the Genii. Not again. Frankly I don't like the idea of you going at all, but like I said these are only suppositions. Suspicions. Which may prove to be ill-founded, I hope. So you stay close to Lorne and Josephes. You investigate your thylacines. You keep that comm unit on you at all times and contact me if anything, I mean anything seems off or out of place." He caressed her cheek, her throat. "And you will carry a gun with you. No arguments."

"Okay, John. Whatever you say, colonel."

He smiled. "Really, doctor? Whatever I say?" He kissed her, pulling her body into his. Hands running down her back to grasp, squeeze her rear. "You just keep this pert little ass of yours safe for me, baby."

"Likewise for your fine, fine ass, colonel," she agreed, kissing him. Squirming against him. Inviting. "Oh John," she whispered into his ear. But she drew back from him. Expression serious. "John...I've been thinking. We are having too much sex again. I–"

"What? No. Why do you always think that, Moira? Are you telling me you've had your fill of me? Of those pleasurable, pleasurable orgasms?"

"No. I mean, I..." she stammered as he quietly laughed at her strong denial.

He kissed her. "Then what is it? What makes you even suggest that, honey? Frequency? Duration? Intensity?" He slid his hands to her waist, up under the shirt to the bra. Under it to feel her breasts. "Variation? What color are you wearing?"

She shoved his hands out of her bra, shirt. "All four, actually, sweetie. I know you are probably used to it with your lots some women but I–"

"Here we go again," he complained, but she continued, ignoring him.

"–am not used to this and it just makes me wonder, it makes me wonder if we are having too much sex again, John, and now we are being, being too loud and overheard by, by some people or even worse since you won't tell me and I think we need to dial down the–"

He kissed her, halting her rush of words, the rising anxiety. Halting all thoughts except for the press of his mouth on hers. The teasing of his tongue as he inserted it. The press of his body as he all but shoved her into him. "I told you, no," he said, when he finally freed her mouth.

She pushed free, shaking her head. "No, John, I'm serious. This...this...I can't... I...look, John," she moved so the table was between them. As if she needed a barrier to resist him. The feel of him. The taste of him. "It's like a vicious circle. Well, not vicious but a circle of pleasure." She eyed the table. Drew an imaginary circle on its surface. Kept moving her finger round and round as if to illustrate her point. "Desire. Lust. Have you noticed that it's escalating? Not just our emotions, I mean the sex itself. I know it's partly because we are more and more comfortable with each other, to do different things. Positions. Seductions. And we do it differently in terms of speed and endurance, sometimes full throttle, sometimes sweet and slow. Sometimes rough. Sometimes gentle. Sometimes at a steady pace, other times a frantic, throbbing rush." She met his gaze suddenly. "John, are you tired of fucking? I mean sex. Are you tired of sex with me?"

John was staring. Totally captivated. Her voice soft, solemn. Scientific as she analyzed every aspect of their intimacy. Expression serious, brown eyes full of such gravity despite the subject matter. Utterly sincere. Not teasing him at all. Which made it all the more erotic. Enticing. He shifted his stance, becoming hard just by her words, her demeanor. "No."

"No? You see."

"See what?" he asked, trying to keep his erection down, his voice down. Keep everything down. He stepped to the table as her finger stopped moving on it.

"The escalation! You're not tired of sex with me yet? I mean, you...you should be, unless the escalation accounts for the–"

"Stop trying to analyze it and just enjoy it, Moira. I know I am, I do," he scolded.

"I know you are used to this with your lots some women but I–"

"That's it!" John strode to her. Caught her arms and moved her against the wall. Stood close, gaze boring into hers. "I am so fucking tired of you talking about that, Moira! You want the truth, do you? I'll tell you, then. I am not used to this either. This continuing relationship. This escalating sexual intensity, variety, climax after climax, pleasure after pleasure, seductive game after seductive game, and we haven't really started yet, baby. We have so much more to explore and investigate, you have no idea! None. Shit, Moira, half of the time I'm thinking of what we can do with each other next and the other half of the time I'm trying to shove all those erotic ideas out of my mind before I get a hard-on or wonder if you're wet enough yet to have sex. The feel of your body under me or on top of me. The feel of my cock inside you, deep inside you. The taste of your skin, your body, the sounds you make, those fucking sounds that make me so rock hard I think I'll burst if I can't have you to–"

"John!" she exclaimed, startled, amazed.

"I'm not finished, baby. I'm not used to this either because most of those some lots women were just sex, just one or two nights, maybe a week. Not like this. Nothing like what we have, so stop, just fucking stop comparing our beautiful, invigorating, fantastic sex to anything I've had before, or you've had before because it's novel for both of us. All right? Are you tired of fucking me, Moira? Of sex with me?"

"No, John," she answered, still astonished by his outpouring of words. Of passion.

"Good. So stop analyzing it...no. Keep analyzing it out loud like this...and enjoy it, Moira. Stop trying to compare this to my lots some women, okay?"

"Okay. Okay, John," she relented. She gently kissed him. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you would be so sensitive about your it. About your lots some women. John?"

"You have to do better than that, Moira, to make it up to me," he chastised.

She smiled. Kissed him again. Running her hands along his chest, waist. Stopping at his belt.

"Poor sweetie...so sensitive about his lots some women..." she teased.

"I'm not kidding, Moira. Cut it out," he said, serious.

She let her fingers wander down to the zipper. "John...when you, when you broke up with your lots some women...was it now? I mean, at the peak of sexual intensity?"

"I said no more, Moira. I mean it. Leave it alone."

"I'm only asking because, because that's when they left me," she admitted. Eyes lowering to his chest. Fingers still playing at his zipper. Feeling the bulge in his pants.

"Who?"

"My few, few men. Just when I was secure...completely secure and trusting. In everything. That's when they, um, dumped me. Like, like you did." Her voice fell softly. Fingers stroking along the length of him now. Slowly. "So I was asking if you, you were the same way. I mean, you know, once you'd had everything you wanted or desired of me you would just...get tired of me and leave me. So I wondered when you left them. So I know when to be prepared. For that. When you...you know."

He touched her cheek, her hair. "Like them, you mean? Your few, few men? No. Moira, I'm not going anywhere. Moira, I'm not going to dump you again. Ever. I won't. Why would you ask me that? We are reaching the heights, the very heights of sexual intimacy. Don't you trust me?"

"Yes. And that's the, the problem. I mean, that's when the exact moment when they–"

"Oh. I'm not them. Moira, look at me." He lifted her face to his. "Sweetheart, I'm never going to dump you again. So don't you worry. Any man who would leave you like that is a fool. I'm no fool, Moira. Well, I was...breaking us up and all, but I'm not now."

"I just...I just figured, you know...you've done all this before with your lots some–"

"No." He sighed. "Haven't yo been listening to me? I haven't. Not like this. So stop talking about them, all right? And don't you dare compare me to your few, few men. I'm not leaving you, Moira. You're stuck with me whether you like it or not, baby."

She smiled. "Okay, John."

He kissed her. Drew her into his arms. "Moira..." he whispered into her ear. Kissed along her throat. "Let's go to bed, sweetheart. You. Me. All night."

Moira smiled, stepped free. Took his hand and led him from the conference room.


End file.
